


The Agony of Survival

by sailboatsupernova



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Hand of Thrawn Duology - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anger, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication Failure, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt, Fights, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Perspective shifts, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2018-11-12 17:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11166888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailboatsupernova/pseuds/sailboatsupernova
Summary: After years of fighting a losing battle, Pellaeon gives in. The conman and his associates had been taken care of, and the treaty with the New Republic was signed. For himself, it is not quite the peace he has been searching for, but it is good enough. Then he receives word that all this time the real Thrawn has been alive, and he wants to return.But things change, and time doesn't heal all wounds. No one ever said the road to forgiveness was easy, or that you would even want to walk it in the first place.An AU that asks and answers the question: what if Thrawn lived through the assassination attempt, and returned to the Empire about ten years too late?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to ibreathethroughwords because without the conversation we had, this would never had seen the light of day.

Pellaeon had been looking forward to being at peace for years. It was a goal that always seemed just out of reach no matter what way he viewed the elusive feeling. 

Early after he had taken command of the Empire he had always thought it would come with his own demise. Going up in a ball of fire and shrapnel in the middle of the final stand against the New Republic, going down with his ship. That image had always felt right. 

Times changed though, and he had learned to rethink his own definition of peace; as the years went by he started to put his personal beliefs aside in order to save what scrapes were left of the Empire. His own tranquility still eluded him throughout those years, but now it was less important than it had been in the past. 

That was what leaders did - they put the bigger picture first. 

Ignoring personal trifles was simple when the lives of millions rested on your own shoulders. 

When the rumors of Thrawn's return started up, Pellaeon had wished for his own personal peace all the harder. He had been so close to being done, to ending this war - and then just as he had reached the end of his rope some selfish men had to go and cut it. 

He was grateful that the problem had been solved relatively swiftly, but it had still taken its toll. It had been a grueling experience, both physically and emotionally, and had impacted every member of the _Chimaera's_ crew. 

But the mess with the conman and the others involved had been taken care of. Negotiations with the New Republic had been completed and would go into full effect in a few standard months. 

It was not quite peace, but after the emotional ordeal dealing with the fake Grand Admiral, it was close enough to satisfy him.

For the first time in ten years, he finally had the chance to sit down and breathe.  

Until the third Thrawn showed up.

Pellaeon had received the message in the middle of a night cycle. He did not make it a habit to check his datapad when he was supposed to be sleeping, but he had already been awake and he was willing to go against self-imposed rules if it meant he did not have to be alone with his thoughts for a few minutes. 

The lack of a description, subject, or recognizable sender location had been intriguing. It had also sent a chill down his spine. He would have to wonder, at a later time, if some deeper part of his subconscious had known what the message contained and he would ask himself if it had all been worth it. 

He had opened it, and spent the next few hours frantically rereading the message sent from someone claiming to be Admiral Voss Parck, thought to either be dead, or disgraced and removed due his long absence from the Empire.

There had been files pinned to the message, claiming that they should provide some amount of proof to his identity. Pellaeon had poured over them, trying to find something to raise doubts. 

The message alone should have raised doubts, but there was nothing Pellaeon could find to outright disprove anything as fraudulent - besides the obvious claim that _Thrawn was still alive._ He dug up Parck's old records in an attempt to find anything to help, anything to give him a reason to delete the message. They had not been updated since the man was a Captain, and the farther Pellaeon read the more confused the records got, until they simply stopped with him being sent out towards the Outer Regions.

There was nothing he could use - if anything the records even supported the rumors of removal. Parck's message and files certainly seemed to claim that that was the case. 

Pellaeon was unsure how he was meant to take any of this. The message had been a shock, and ever since he opened the damned thing he had been battling warring feelings of anger, disquiet, and absolute emptiness. 

He did not want to go through this again. He wouldn't - he was incapable of knowing if he could even survive another ruse. There was nothing left in him to give in the efforts of being led around by his nose. 

Whatever he had done in his life to deserve this, he desperately wished for a chance to redeem himself from it. 

The thought had crossed his mind that these clones were some breed of hydra sent to him. That every time he proved the facsimile for what it was, locked it up and threw away the key, there would already be another in his place. 

The thought was enough to make his stomach curl. 

It was absurd to take the word of a man who was a disgraced Imperial at best, and long dead at worst. It was cruel and unjust of himself to respond to such inquiries. The treaty was signed, the war was over. 

Even if this was the real Thrawn, he would have nothing to come back to. 

Why would he even come back now? After all this time, why now when there is nothing left to fight for? 

Had he left it all to Pellaeon, believing that he could handle fighting off the rebellion without him? Without guidance or help?

No, that did not make any sense. Thrawn had wanted to win the war and he would have known that Pellaeon could not lead them to victory. He did not have Thrawn's ability or genius. 

_Then why come back now, not even a week after I have given up, when I have been struggling for years?_

Perhaps it was some final cruelty. 

_Perhaps he knows that I have failed and has come to tell me._

An image of the Grand Admiral in his command chair, blood dripping down and staining the front of his tunic, pops into Pellaeon's head. An image of red eyes that no longer glow and an emotionless voice as it icily berates him, tells him what a disappointment he is. 

_"I expected so much more from you."_

_"I should not even be surprised. You could barely keep up with me when I was alive, I do not know why I expected any different when I was gone."_

_"I chose you out of a hundred officers and this is the effort I receive?"_

It did not stop Pellaeon from responding. 

If there is even a chance that this was real, he is obligated to respond. 

Even as his own masochistic thoughts stabbed at his heart, there was the smallest flicker of hope.

That he even still dared to have such feelings after all he had been through told Pellaeon that he had not yet suffered enough. 

It was there regardless, and he knew that he would suffer that spark of belief being crushed a thousand times more if it meant that just once it would be validated. 

If the road through Hell lead to Thrawn, then he would walk it. 

The Empire may have finally been at peace with the end of the war, but Pellaeon still had hope that he could achieve that carefully formed tranquility. 

He had finally realized that the reason peace had eluded him for so long was that it did not lie in death nor a treaty but with the man who had promised the galaxy to the Empire, and had died trying to deliver it. 

Pellaeon had told Captain Ardiff something reasonable about it being the Empire's duty to flush out such lies when he told him about the message sent from Wild Space.

He could keep his own foolish hopes to himself.

He was allowed that much. 

Response had been slow, but as Pellaeon's correspondence with Parck continued, they reached a point where multiple messages were being sent every twenty-four hours. Each of the two men probed the other, had asked questions and made inquiries as they tried to figure out just what the other was getting at. Despite seemingly mutual doubts, the conversation was refreshingly pointed. 

Either the sign of honesty, or an attempt to hide something behind a facade of confidence. 

It had taken three days after he had opened the initial message to receive the sentence he had been waiting on: "Grand Admiral Thrawn wants to speak with you in person." 

Against his better judgement, against every last self-doubt and suspicion, Pellaeon allowed it. Had even set the meeting place for the _Chimaera_. 

He hoped that he wouldn't regret this. He desperately did not want to - the embarrassment alone might crush him. To catch the first conman but then let the second aboard his ship on the word of a possibly dead Imperial? Pellaeon would have to resign from his station. 

It was too late to take back his agreement though. It had been too late ever since he had opened that first message. 

On the day they were set to arrive, Pellaeon had sat on his bed, holding his own blaster and debating if he should bring it. 

It would not be completely out of place at his hip. This was still a warship regardless of any peace treaty, and after everything he had faced, no one would look twice at him for bringing along a weapon. 

An image flashed unbidden through his mind: Thrawn in his command chair, bloodied. Pellaeon standing before him, the blaster in his hand. 

A call from Ardiff alerting him to the approach of a transport ship had pulled him out of those thoughts. 

In the end, he left the blaster in his nightstand. 

The walk to the hanger bay had been quicker than he had expected, and more than once he considered taking a detour to lengthen the time further. That was the talk of a weaker man though - Pellaeon was too old for such nonsense, no matter how much it may have tempted him. 

He joined the small squad of stormtroopers and Ardiff in the bay just as the transport finished its landing sequence. There was not much point in making a grand gesture towards someone who may not even be the Grand Admiral. Pellaeon had nothing to prove to him, not yet. 

Even if it did turn out to be the real Thrawn, well, Pellaeon was sure that he would prefer the small group rather than a sprawling regalia. 

Not that Pellaeon believed there were not officers who had shoved themselves off into the traffic control rooms along the walls above their small group, packed in tightly to watch whatever was about to unfold. He was not naive enough to think the few that had heard the whispers floating around would not give their all for just a glimpse. 

Pellaeon could allow them that much. At least they were not on the ground floor where they could be seen acting like damn fools. 

There was a soft hiss from the ship's door and Pellaeon brought his attention back as a loading ramp slid out to smoothly touch the floor. 

When the door finally opened, Pellaeon met the eyes of the man who claimed to be Grand Admiral Thrawn. 

None of the tumultuous emotions that ran through Pellaeon's body showed on his face, and the other man appeared to be similarly calm. For a few moments they simply stared at each other, and Pellaeon could not decide what that clear gaze meant for him. 

What did this man see when he looked at Pellaeon? Was he seeing an easy mark, an old man that could be easily fooled? Or was he seeing his age, cataloging each of the wrinkles ten years of stress had added since he had last seen him or perhaps even the whiteness of his hair? 

Thrawn did not hold his gaze as he stepped out from the inside of the ship, eyes flicking downwards to watch where his feet were going, and Pellaeon took the moment to glance over the rest of him. 

Surprisingly he was not dressed in the pure white of a Grand Admiral. Instead he was dressed in dark civilian clothes, and while they had an affluent look about them and were cut to fit the form of the man before him, Pellaeon could tell they were meant more for physical comfort than status. 

What had lacked in the man's attire, he made up for in demeanor. He moved like Thrawn had all those years ago: smooth, efficient, and even without the uniform you knew that this was a man not to be trifled with. He demanded respect in his gaze alone, and Pellaeon watched out of the corner of his eyes as a few of the stormtroopers - the ones that had served while Thrawn was on the _Chimaera_ a decade ago, if he recalled properly - stood up a little straighter. There was a barely perceptible gasp to his left, and he just barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes at Ardiff. 

_Idiots. I should have just come alone._

There was no guarantee this was real. They had almost been conned once, and while it was doubtful someone would manage to set this up so soon after that debacle, there was still the possibility. 

Yet, the small flame of hope Pellaeon had been uselessly trying to quash was alive. Growing with every second. 

Waiting to be shattered under another lie. 

Maybe this time he would be lucky enough that the heartbreak would kill him. 

The man stopped at the bottom of the ramp and his eyes lifted to once again find Pellaeon's. He fought with himself internally to keep any emotion from his gaze. 

He would not allow this man to see into his thoughts, his soul.

He would not be fooled again. 

_I watched Grand Admiral Thrawn die._

Hope could wait until after he received proof that this was not an absolute sham. 

Movement caught Pellaeon's attention and his gaze flicked back to the transport's doorway, and he had to blink out of fear that he was seeing double. 

The man was of similar completion to Thrawn, but was a few inches shorter than the other blue skinned man he traveled with, with red eyes behind a pair of rounded glasses. As Pellaeon watched him, his eyes rose to meet his stare. A lifetime of military experience kept him from shivering. 

Even now Pellaeon can remember the Grand Admiral's gaze, how it had always been easy for him to meet. It had been a gaze that was nigh impossible to read, but there was nothing inherently uncomfortable about eye contact with the Admiral. 

There is simply nothing in those eyes. His stare is blank - not in the way Thrawn's had been so long ago, when he knew that the alien had been capable of emotions but was also capable of hiding them with an unfathomable control, but blank in a way that makes Pellaeon think that there are simply no emotions to conceal in the first place. 

For a split second, Pellaeon is wholly convinced that the man is not looking at him, but inside of him. 

Pellaeon tears his eyes away from that gaze, instead looking downwards to study the other man's attire. He was completely covered from the neck down, not an inch of blue skin to be seen beyond his face. He recognizes it as a uniform, military in nature, but with no visible rank bars to be seen on the black material. The only things on the uniform that are not black are four white bands, one marking each of the tunic's cuffs and another pair higher up on each arm.

The design was nothing familiar, but Pellaeon glimpsed a symbol on the arm bands that he immediately recognized. 

 _He's a medic_. 

The realization made Pellaeon's blood chill and simultaneously pump faster. A con wouldn't think to bring along a medic would they? Disra and his lackeys had not thought that far ahead - no, he had wanted his own false Thrawn to be as healthy as he had been in the past, before the betrayal. A man who had been run through with a blade would need a doctor nearby though. 

To allow a medic to come displayed a sign of weakness, but it was also a sign of authenticity. It added a layer of believably to the story that was being told and Pellaeon was genuinely surprised. 

Either these cons where better strategists than some officers, or--

He refused to let himself think of the other possibility out of fear that he might start to believe it, and told himself that perhaps they were simply that good. 

The medic fell into place a little behind Thrawn and Pellaeon waited a second longer to make sure no one else came out. No others came out of the ship, and Pellaeon inhaled a steadying breath to calm his nerves before speaking, hoping that his voice would not shake. 

"Welcome aboard the _Chimaera_ , gentlemen. I assume that the trip from Wild Space when well?" 

"It did," the man who looked like Thrawn responded. "Thank you for allowing this meeting to occur and letting us both aboard your ship."  

"Who would 'us' consist of?"

"Only myself and my companion who has been serving as my personal doctor, Dympha. There are others still aboard our transport: two troopers and the pilot, and they will leave with the ship if our meeting goes as anticipated, Pellaeon." 

Pellaeon bit back his own correction - _that is_ Admiral _Pellaeon to you_ \- because there was no point in making assumptions about his identity. 

He wanted desperately to lash out - to let even a mere sliver of emotion seep through his calm exterior, as he nodded at each man in turn. 

_He sounds just like him._

There had been a long period after agreeing to meet with the supposed Grand Admiral where Pellaeon would just sit alone and think. He would dream up scenarios, let them play out in his head. Hundreds of different actions and reactions, leading to a thousand different conclusions. Slowly, he desensitized himself to each of them. He could not show any emotion to these people. He would not allow them to have the upper hand by giving them a reaction to work off of. 

Reality was harder to bear than imagination. 

He wanted to scream, to demand to know who this man thought he was. He wanted to cry and ask him why he left. Warring reactions for two possible conclusions. 

None of it slipped past the calm veil of Pellaeon's face. 

He would not overplay his hand; if it was not Thrawn then he would not want the other to think that he knew. If it was truly him, then he would not be disrespectful. He only had to get them deeper into his ship. Away from the transport in case of one contingency, and to somewhere they could speak without two dozen eyes staring down at them for the other. 

"Sir," Ardiff spoke. "Shouldn't we move this conversation somewhere more private than a hanger bay?"

Pellaeon glanced over his shoulder to give the other man a pointed look. Ardiff, to his credit, managed to pull of a proper expression of chagrin and received a nod of assent - one that was interpreted as approval by the Captain. After all, they had discussed this earlier and found that play acting might be necessary, if not also a bit extreme. 

_Make them think that there is strife among the ranks. Let them think we are weak, that the younger officers don't know when to keep their mouths shut, and I myself am too old to keep them in line._

_The more at ease they are, the earlier they will play their hand. Then, we shall have them._

_If they are even lying to begin with._

"The Captain is correct in that regard. If you would all follow me." 

Pellaeon turned his back on the others and started walking away. This was the moment: he could not have made it any easier to attack him if that was their plan. They were still close enough to their own ship, and while there were stormtroopers standing nearby it was only a small squad. If the plan was to kill Pellaeon, then now made the most tactical sense. The farther they went into the _Chimaera_ , the farther they were from escape, and the number of troops would only increase. 

If they took their shot, he hoped they hit their mark on the first try. 

Quick, efficient. 

At least then his last thoughts wouldn't revolve around betrayal. 

Pellaeon counted his steps, wondering which one might be his last. No shot came however, and as he lead their small group away from the transport he could hear other footsteps falling into pace behind him. 

He was relieved despite himself. In the long run this meant nothing; there would be a dozen more chances to press a gun against his back. 

The way they went was devoid of any other life since Pellaeon had preemptively assigned troopers to clear out the hallways before they came through. As much as he would have appreciated the safety of witnesses, he refused to put the members of his staff at risk. 

He had no control over the rumor mill, but he did not want this Thrawn having any contact with his crew until he knew for sure that he was truly who he claimed to be. The less of a chance this man had to influence anyone, the less of a chance that there would be a drop in moral should he be put down. 

They made it to the lift without incident and the four stepped in, leaving the stormtroopers behind as its doors closed. Pellaeon keyed for the floor he wanted and then turned back to face the others. 

Dympha, who was staring at the floor readout above the lift doors, did not even glance his way but Thrawn caught his eyes, and they studied each other for a few moments. 

Pellaeon could feel his eyes flicking across his face, studying, looking for something, he did not know. 

He was unsure if he even wanted to know. 

Surprisingly, Thrawn was the first to look away. It was only to glance up at the floor readout and his body language was calm, but Pellaeon could not help but read into it. 

Here was the second chance if they wanted to try something. Two against two, but Pellaeon knew that neither Ardiff or himself were armed unless the Captain had a blade hidden in his boot. 

He needed to keep at least one of the two men looking at him. There was less of a chance that they would attack if they were being interacted with. If nothing else, it would let them know that they had no element of surprise if Pellaeon was looking right at them. 

"We are heading to my personal office. It is one of the only places aboard where I can guarantee we will not be listened in on. Do either of you have any objections to that location?"

"No." Thrawn's eyes came back to meet his again. "It sounds as though that would be the most agreeable option." 

Pellaeon nodded and for a second it looked like the other man might say more, but a soft ping interrupted them with an alert that they had reached their destination. They broke eye contact, filed out of the lift, Pellaeon once again leading the small group. 

Pellaeon made no move to point out the pair of stormtroopers that filed in after them, blasters held over their chest in case they needed to fire. If the two aliens noticed they didn't mention it although Pellaeon doubted that it had escaped their attention. 

It was not a long walk to his office but as they stopped in front of the door and Pellaeon slipped his code cylinder from his pocket, he actually felt nervous. 

This was the final door on this journey. Inside would lead to one of two possibilities, and from there a dozen possible consequences branched out. 

Deep down Pellaeon knew that no matter what happened, it would end with pain. 

There was no good ending to this story. 

Either the man was a fraud to be discovered, locked up and executed, or he was who he claimed to be. Finally revealing himself after ten years and for what?

Why?

 _Why now? When I have mourned for so long, agonized over every second of that final day, why?_  

It felt as if his nerves were fraying, his own fear a heavy weight hanging in the pit of his stomach. 

He slipped the cylinder into the reader and the door's lock clicked. 

The door slid open and Pellaeon stepped into his office, not stopping until he reached his desk. He could hear footsteps following him inside, the door sliding closed, and he took a moment to brace himself before he turned around, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back against his desk. 

This was it. The final stop. One way or another he would get his answer here in this room. Distantly he wondered if he would have to get his office moved after this, if the memories that would now be associated with these four walls would be too much and he would not be capable of finding the peace of mind required to work. 

It was a ridiculous notion - but then he started to recall the other rooms on the _Chimaera_ he was no longer able to enter unless it was absolutely necessary. Thrawn's quarters, the secondary command room: tombs aboard a warship, which felt like a coffin itself when the memories came floating back.

 _Ridiculous notion_ , he reminded himself and took in the small group of people before him. 

His office was not small nor empty, but there was no proper cover other than his own desk, and Pellaeon had cut off that avenue by placing himself in front of it. If the pair of stormtroopers on the inside of the door went unnoticed in the halls they were certainly noticed now, standing at attention on each side of the doorway. There were few items that could be used as projectiles that were not on the desk, and if it reached that point the troopers would have already stepped in to handle the situation. In the absolute worst case scenario, there was the emergency blaster stashed beneath his desk. 

No matter what happened, he was as ready as he could possibly be. 

No matter what. 

"I do not like dancing around a subject," Pellaeon started, glancing between the men before him, keeping his gaze focused on Thrawn. 

The man nodded in response. "Then we shall get to the heart of the matter. You know that I could be lying, and you want evidence to the contrary." 

"Precisely. Although I have very little faith in the typical ways of proving one's identity. Skin tone can be replicated with make-up. Voice patterns can be faked, as can DNA." 

"Indeed, although the recent reminder to the fallibility of such techniques is quite disappointing." 

"Yes," Pellaeon agreed, staring down the other man. Of course the real Thrawn would have known about the conman, the timing was too close to that plot's discovery. 

Besides, Pellaeon fully expected that if Thrawn were alive, then he would have had some way of keeping track of the _Chimaera's_ and Pellaeon's movements, probably some sort of mechanical recording device reporting in periodically, and more than one spy on the inside. It only made sense that he would have heard the news. 

It would be absolutely absurd to think that Thrawn would not have known about Disra's and Tierce's plot. 

That meant that it was also wholly unreasonable for a fake to be unaware of the timing. 

"All physical means to prove that I am who I claim to be are equally unreliable then. Similarly, anything I then offered on my own as proof would also be highly suspicious, since there would be doubts to its authenticity as well." 

"You want me to come up with something then?"

"Yes, Pellaeon. I think it would be best if we clear up all doubts as soon as possible. A suggestion from you yourself would be the easiest way to accomplish this." 

It was exactly what he would expect the real Thrawn to have suggested.

It was also something any mediocre con could have offered, if they had enough confidence in their abilities to either lie or predict the mark's own response. 

Either way, it was the perfect suggestion. 

_Well played._

"Tell me something that only the real Thrawn would know." 

The blue skinned man didn't even blink. Cliché as it was, it was too open for a conman to be able to answer with anything convincing enough. Pellaeon had expected another question in return, fishing for clues or hints as to what he could possibly say that would convince Pellaeon that this was the real deal. 

Instead, the alien simply stared back at Pellaeon, looking thoughtful for a few moments before speaking. "Years ago, shortly after I took the _Chimaera_ as my flagship, I ordered that we go to Tatooine to retrieve something. It was a painting, titled Killik Twilight, and it had just recently been put up for auction."

Pellaeon remembered that adventure quite clearly, though anyone who knew how to dig in records could have dug that up. He neither confirmed nor denied this though, keeping his face blank as Thrawn spoke. 

_Give him nothing to work with._

"There were many points of interest to how this incident played out, but in particular I remember how furious you were with the events that transpired over that painting. First the risk of expenses, then the danger I put myself in personally when the painting was not retrieved." 

Pellaeon kept his face blank but that fire of hope flickered, burned just a bit brighter. He tried to get control of it, ignoring the way it made his stomach churn. _Someone is very, very good at digging._

"All of this is merely background information. The point I want to get to, was when you asked to speak with me once I was back on board--"

_Extremely good at digging._

"--I had agreed, and we went to my command chamber to speak in private. What happened could hardly be considered speaking. It was our first proper argument; the first of many, if I am being honest, but there was something about that argument in particular that has always stood out in my memory." Thrawn paused, and looked at Pellaeon as if he were seeing him, something almost wistful in his eyes. Pellaeon told himself that it was a trick of the light, almost convinced himself that it was true. "Do you remember what you called me?"

Pellaeon could not respond. He was sure he did not have to, the expression on his face must have answered the question for him. 

"You told me that I was a, quote: stubborn-headed sithspawn and that you had no idea what far-flung mental institution I had crawled out of but you would be more than happy to send me back there if I ever did something like that again. You had an interesting way of showing that you cared back then, Admiral Pellaeon." 

Pellaeon was vaguely aware of Ardiff mumbling something beside him but Pellaeon was already gone. 

His breath caught in his throat and he stared at those red eyes. 

The man watched Pellaeon back, impassive, patient. Waiting for Pellaeon to come to the inevitable conclusion. 

The command chamber had no cameras or recording devices planted within it. While Thrawn lived, he would have never allowed anyone the chance to enter his sanctum without his permission via hacking anything. Pellaeon also had the whole room wiped over and over again after Thrawn passed, trying to pick up any pieces that might have been left for him. 

He tried to explain it away, to think up a reason this man would know about that conversation. How he would be able to quote back Pellaeon own hotheaded insult to his face years after he had spoken it. 

There were none. 

Not a single explanation as to how, except one. 

The raw emotion that welled up inside of him was unidentifiable. It was like being lit on fire.

He could feel the rush of it, the unbearable heat, expanding inside of him.

It felt like his rib-cage might burst. With the way his heart was pounding against his chest he thought that it just might. 

_It's him._

For a second he was afraid that he might lose consciousness, but willed himself to get it under control. 

He was prepared for this - no, no that was a lie, he had thought he was prepared for this. 

The reality was so different. 

The imagination was a powerful tool, but it could not compare to the visceral feeling of living the experience. 

Pellaeon opened his mouth, closed it. He shook his head in disbelief and took a few steps forwards, closer to the man he had waited on for a decade. 

There is an almost infinite amount of things he could say. What even could he say? He had thought about this, dreamed it so many times, the words should have just come to him as naturally as breathing. 

Nothing came beyond the ragged pain in his chest. 

It felt like an out of body experience. He couldn't quite feel his limbs, could barely even hear over the beating of his heart. If it wasn't for the blood rushing in his ears he would think he was dreaming. That this was just another cruel creation of his own subconscious. 

But no, this was real. 

He had waited so long for this moment. A moment he had never expected to have while still breathing.  

It was over. 

Finally, after so many years of grieving and suffering, it was over. 

He could have his peace. 

"Welcome back, Grand Admiral Thrawn." 

Pellaeon pulled back his fist, and slammed it into Thrawn's face. 


	2. Chapter 2

Pellaeon aimed for the mouth. Never let it be said that he had never done anything for the Grand Admiral – any higher and he would have broken his nose. 

There is a split second, when his fist connected, where it felt as if time itself had slowed. 

There is such a rush of emotion within Pellaeon that he did not know what to do with himself. It was a complex mess feelings, too complicated to pick apart and dissect every single strand of emotion in this single moment. There are prominent ones: anger, ruefulness, a sadness that’s more habit than anything else at this point. There’s a voice too, somewhere in the back of his mind, that shouted about how he just punched an Imperial Grand Admiral, one who might have been the love of his life. It seemed oddly out of place with the realization that he would very much like to hit him again. 

The force of the hit alone was enough to knock Thrawn backwards.

He stumbled, and despite himself Pellaeon was relieved when Dympha reached out to catch him under his arms before he could fall. Pellaeon did not look away from Thrawn's limp form – he couldn't, even if he wanted to his mind was still  _reeling_  with what he had just done – but he would have sworn that he saw Ardiff give him the faintest nod of approval out of the corner of his eye. 

There's more movement that pulled Pellaeon's eyes towards the door. It's the two stormtroopers, as they twitch and shuffle, unsure of what should be done about this. The one on the left just glanced between the two, while the other started to raise his blaster although it's obvious that he was unsure if it should be fired. 

Pellaeon saw the habitual gesture for what it was. He could almost hear the gears turning behind the polished white of the trooper's helmets. 

_Is assault still assault if it's between superiors?_

In the end, the decision was made for them as Thrawn raised a hand in a halt gesture. "Lower your weapons." His eyes flashed to Pellaeon's, and the mask of cool surprise that was Thrawn's face could not hide the shine of anger in his eyes. "To an extent I believe that was  _deserved_." 

Pellaeon's took a step back, as his chest heaved with every breath. Adrenaline was still being pumped through his body, and he was unsure if he needed to listen to the fight or flight instincts.

He grit his teeth and fought down the urge to react.

Regardless of his body's will, he would not flee from this.

No, he just needed space to get under control, to be able to keep his fists clenched safely at his sides. "Yes," Pellaeon agreed when he felt like he could speak again, "I can assure you it was." 

Something in Thrawn's eyes seemed to change and Pellaeon would have sworn that the temperature of the room had dropped ten degrees. He could not stop himself from taking another step away until his back hit the solid barrier of his own desk. It's less of a relief now than it had been a minute before. 

He did not feel trapped against it though. That's not quite the right word – strangely enough he felt caught.  _Guilty_. 

It's wrong, and he knew it. Down in the very core of his soul he knew that he had nothing to feel guilty for in this situation. 

_I am not in the wrong._

The words felt stale, lifeless, even in his own head. They felt so false that he can barely even stomach them. 

The truth of the matter is that he wasn't sure if he even was in the right anymore. 

He attempted to summon the will to glare back at Thrawn, but he can only feel the fatigue he had been trying to hide seep into his features. 

"I think that it's time for the rest of us to leave." 

Ardiff's firm voice cut though the silence, and Pellaeon sighed in relief despite himself. 

The captain shifted his gaze between each person in the room, but paused for a second longer when his eyes met Pellaeon's. The expression on Ardiff's face was reproachful, but the worry was plain to see beneath it. It was in the firm line of his lips, the pinched corners of his eyes. 

Pellaeon gave him the smallest dip of his chin. An act of permission.

The last thing he wanted was for his subordinate to see him like this, to see whatever was about to unfold. 

He had a feeling that it was about to get so much worse, and Pellaeon would either rise above it or crumble. 

Ardiff looked as if he wanted to say something, ask if Pellaeon was sure in his decision or request to stay behind perhaps. Gratefully, the moment passed and he did not voice whatever concerns he must have had.  

Instead Ardiff simply inclined his head before turning his stare towards the troopers, who both hesitated. 

Between the violence and the tense silence, Pellaeon could not find it in himself to blame them for their concern. 

They too did not voice their concerns though. The two glanced between Pellaeon and Ardiff before they turned and filed through the door with only a little visible apprehension.

The captain then turned his stare towards the doctor who merely returned his stare, unimpressed. Pellaeon could see Ardiff falter just a bit beneath that hard gaze, but to his credit he did not back down. He had to admit that he was a bit impressed by his captain. He would have to remember to commend him on his willpower later. 

For now, Pellaeon had to focus on the present. With the way his heart felt as if it might beat out of his own chest, his hopes were not quite as high as he might have preferred. 

Luckily, Dympha did not seem interested in putting up a fight. His impasse with Ardiff ended with nothing more than a blink and a murmur to Thrawn in a language neither of the humans could understand. 

Whatever had been said the grand admiral must have agreed with it, since he gave a nod in response to whatever the doctor had said and without another word Dympha lifted him up until he was standing upright on his own two feet. 

Unlike the troopers, there was no hesitation as the doctor turned and left. Not even a glance back, or a final word. 

He merely left. 

Pellaeon did not know if it was confidence or a complete disregard for the men left behind that allowed Dympha to simply leave. He wished that he could have asked the doctor for the secret to his strength to stand so tall in such a moment, regardless of what it stemmed from. 

Ardiff followed the doctor to the door just as soundlessly. 

Pellaeon wanted to ask him to stay behind, but knew better than to voice such a thing. Ardiff would have, if asked, but the last thing Pellaeon wanted was a witness to whatever storm was about to come.

Especially if that witness was a subordinate. Someone who should not have to see their commanding officer lose control and break down.

Pellaeon did not want his captain to see the weakness he tried to hide in himself. Not now, and certainly not in front of the one man who caused such weakness. The only man who could draw it to the surface, like blood that welled up and out of an open wound.

He could feel it just beneath the surface of his skin, the anger, the raw pain of an injury that had never healed properly being ripped open all over again.

The two warring emotions of rage and sadness merged into something unidentifiable. It only served to make the pain in his chest expand until he thought his rib cage might burst.

He had been so close to finally being able to rest. To being done with the war and beginning the process of rebuilding what he could of the Empire.

That was all Pellaeon had wanted – the unobtainable dream that was rest!

To have all of it just torn out from under him by the very man who had put him in the position in the first place? That all of it – his suffering, the Empire’s slow fall, the effort everyone had made to pick up the pieces of a doomed government while everything crumbled around them – was for nothing?

That burned worse than any wound he had suffered in all his years of service.

It felt like the last ten years of his own life had been nothing but a cruel joke. 

Movement caught his attention and he glanced over Thrawn’s shoulder to where Ardiff stood on the other side of the door. There was something almost sympathetic in Ardiff’s eyes as he gave Pellaeon a parting nod.

It was not what he wanted to see in a subordinate – that Ardiff even felt the need to give Pellaeon some level comfort only showed him just how much he had failed as a commander – but regardless, he returned the nod with one of his own.

Something about the moment felt final as Ardiff’s hand keyed for the door to close, and Pellaeon was left alone with Thrawn. 

It was everything he had ever dreamed of. 

It was sickening how quickly it turned into a nightmare. 

The silence in the room was deafening - it almost begged to remain unbroken. Pellaeon knew that he would have been happy to let it stay that way. If the quiet was merely the calm before the storm then he would have preferred to leave it undisturbed forever, no matter how unrealistic an expectation that is.

Pellaeon pulled his eyes away from the door and his gaze immediately fell on Thrawn. They stared at each other from across the empty space between them.

Where Pellaeon's fist landed was already starting to bruise, turning the blue skin a dark shade of purple. The injury only managed to make this seem all the more surreal. 

He was unsure of what he wanted to say. If he should even say anything. 

Oddly enough he felt as if he was seeing the alien for the first time. Since Thrawn had landed aboard his ship, there had always been a shadow of doubt looming over Pellaeon's thoughts. There had not been that proof that he was who he said he was, but now he did not have that doubt to hide behind. 

The man had not been lying, and that meant that all of this was undeniably real. There was nothing left for Pellaeon to hide behind, no doubts or fears. He hated to admit it, but there had been a small part of Pellaeon that had hoped that this man had only been another fake. At least then he would not have had to deal with the possibility that Thrawn had truly abandoned him. 

He would have continued to be miserable, continued to put on a brave face for his crew, but he was used to that constant suffering. 

That pain was nothing compared to what he felt now. 

He had always frowned on those who often insisted that not knowing the truth of some matters was better than the alternative, but now he understood where those few had been coming from. 

Thrawn lifted a hand to his face and pressed the tips of his fingers to the spot on his lip where Pellaeon had hit, and then lowered his hand. He stared down at his fingertips and when Pellaeon followed his gaze he could see a smear of red on his blue skin. 

"Quite the punch."

An unreasonable amount of irritation flashed through Pellaeon at those words. It was almost enough to cover up the sting he felt at the coolness in Thrawn’s voice.

How  _dare_  he act so unaffected. 

He did not have the  _right_  to seem so distant.

Not when Pellaeon had been stuttering through life - barely hanging on by a thread some days - for the past decade.

Pellaeon snapped, "Two weeks." 

Thrawn looked up from his hand with a blink. His calm expression had not changed and that alone made Pellaeon fume, but at least he had the alien’s attention.

So he continued.

"Two weeks after I signed the treaty with the New Republic, you show up. After ten years of being alive on some stars-forsaken planet you choose to come back now? Why now, Thrawn? Why now when you were gone for ten _kriffing_ _years_!" His palm slammed down onto the top of his desk. Distantly he heard a few of the items rattle from the impact. He couldn’t be bothered to care, but the sound made him clench his teeth in an attempt to bite back his anger. "All that time and you come back and act as if everything should be normal, as if nothing has changed." 

Thrawn stared at him, his face still a bland mask. It was enough to make Pellaeon want to shout again, or even consider throwing something at him. Anything to get a reaction out of him – but he spoke up, derailing Pellaeon’s thoughts before they could go farther.

"I am well aware of the situation, Pellaeon. I did not come all this way merely to pretend that no time has passed, that the situation is not different.”

What a delightful way to avoid the real question Pellaeon wanted him to answer. If he had not retreated to his desk earlier Pellaeon might have gave in to his own sudden urge to slap him. In a way, Pellaeon supposed that it was good to know that the Grand Admiral was still the same infuriating man.

Even so, Pellaeon did not have the time or the energy for this, nor did he have to put up with it.

He was not sure if he outranked Thrawn – that he might actually outrank his old commanding officer nearly made his stomach drop to his feet – but they were certainly on more equal ground than before.

Like he said: things had changed, and Pellaeon had not become the Supreme Commander by dancing around topics.

"What do you want, Thrawn?” He asked. “Is it control over a failing government? I’ll warn you that I’ve worked hard for my failure and I’d hate to simply give it up. If you want it back you’ll have to make a good argument." 

Thrawn’s lips looked pinched at Pellaeon’s outburst, and even he had to admit that perhaps he had laid it on a bit thick. The bitterness in his own voice made Pellaeon want to frown, but it had already been thrown out into the open.

It was too late to cover it up and there was no point in trying to take it back.

"I did not return to take command. I am resigning from my position from Grand Admiral in the Empire." 

Pellaeon blinked and he could feel his own surprise flash across his face.

"You are resigning?" Pellaeon repeated back, incredulous. "You can't be serious – who else knows about this?"

"A few select officers on Nirauan, as does my physician. You are the first I have told beyond those few. I would thank you to keep it that way for the time being, I would like to make the announcement myself." 

He was so calm when he spoke. So impossibly, infuriatingly _calm_.

Did none of this matter to Thrawn? Did he not realize how extraordinary his return was?

Were the implications, the ramifications, lost on him?

Had he missed the pain in Pellaeon’s voice, the hurt in his eyes?

Thrawn had always been capable of reading Pellaeon’s thoughts and emotions with barely more than a glance. Had he lost that ability after ten years, or was he simply ignoring him?

That thought hurt. It felt as if someone had reached into his chest and dug their fingers into his heart.

_Don’t think about that._

_Whatever you do, do not think that._

It almost felt like some sort of waking nightmare. One where only he was aware of the time that had passed since they had last seen each other alive – to Thrawn it seemed as if it had barely been a day.

Worse yet, he had still avoided Pellaeon’s question about what he wanted out of this.

"So that's it then? You've quit? While you were off on some planet in the middle of nowhere, we have been fighting a losing battle and you come back just to tell me that you are resigning?" 

"That is not why I am here, Pellaeon. You should know better than that."

"Oh, I should know better?"

Thrawn arched an eyebrow at him condescendingly. "Yes."

_So that’s how it was then._

Pellaeon shot Thrawn a glare. "If I didn't already know that it was really you, this would have certainly convinced me! You always have to be five steps ahead – you can’t even be bothered to explain anything! Everyone else should just know what you're thinking because it's so obvious, isn't it?" 

"I do not have an issue with explaining my reasoning, but you clearly do not want to hear what I have to say." 

"You are not saying anything! All you do is make claims but then you offer no clarification! Forget everything else - I just want to know why you were gone for so long, why you did not tell me that you were alive!" 

"There was no reason to burden you with that information." 

Pellaeon is so shocked he can't even respond to that. Thrawn did not want to  _burden_   _him_ by telling him he was _alive_?

It’s absurd.

That is absolutely the most ridiculous thing Pellaeon has ever heard.

His mouth dropped open, and he gives Thrawn such a look of reproach that the man cannot possibly misinterpret his expression.

_He didn't want to burden me by telling me he was alive, so he let me suffer thinking he was dead for ten years._

_He didn't trust me enough to carry that "burden"._

"You couldn't even trust me, your second in command, with the knowledge that you were alive but you can trust me with your resignation? Because you couldn't burden me?" 

"This isn't about trust, Pellaeon." 

"Then what in the hell is it about then! You trusted other officers with the knowledge that you were alive – kriff, it sounds like you trusted a whole planet full of people with this information, and I'm what? Too high of a risk to whatever careful plan you had created? Oh, a whole planet can keep a secret but one man who would give his life for the Empire and all it stands for cannot be!" 

"Don't make it personal, Pellaeon." 

"I am not making this personal!" 

"Based on your blatant desperation I would say that it is very personal." 

Pellaeon froze in disbelief – then shot a scowl across the room. He was sure every ounce of the anger he felt showed on his face.

He found himself having to count backwards from ten as his hands reached around him to grip the edge of his desk to keep himself from crossing the room again. If he left the desk he couldn't trust himself to be civil. 

"Fine, all right, I'm desperate. I can admit that – I think I deserve the right to admit that much after all this. I certainly deserve it after finding out that apparently you do not trust me."

"And I have said that trust had nothing to do with my decision." 

It was willpower alone that kept Pellaeon from having to hit his desk a second time. "You say that but then you won't even give me a reason!" 

"A reason, Pellaeon? Is that what you want?”

“That is all I have asked for, Thrawn!”

“Fine,” the alien hissed, his voice strained as it was forced through Thrawn’s clenched teeth. “It is about duty. Your responsibility to your career, to your subordinates, to what you rule over and command. Petty things like trust do not matter when you have a duty to perform." 

Pellaeon couldn’t help but scoff. "Do not talk to me about duty." 

"And why shouldn't I, when you are standing there and acting as if you do not even understand the word?"

"I do not understand duty? I guess it's just a simple miracle that you even had a scrap of an empire left to come to! I’m sure no one had anything to do with keeping this shambling mess together – it’s just managed to run itself!"

The words were spat out too quickly, and Pellaeon nearly bit off his tongue to silence himself. They struck too closely to the constant self-depreciation he lived with inside his own head and he does not trust what might be said next.

Now is not the time for such weakness.

Pellaeon tried to drag up more of the anger that boiled inside him, and hoped that it might be enough cover up his own sorrow. "I will not be lectured by someone about doing my duty to the Empire when he is the one who has been doing nothing." 

"I have done nothing?" Thrawn repeated as he matched Pellaeon’s glare with one of his own. "I understand that you have been under great amounts of stress recently, but I will not tolerate being openly disrespected." 

"You should have thought of that before you resigned then."

_You should have thought of that before you left me on my own for ten years._

Pellaeon viciously shoved that thought back down to whatever depths it came from. "You cannot even begin to imagine what stresses I have been under. I just had to deal with a fraudulent _you_ and then sign a treaty with the enemy! You can’t come here, tell me that you've quit, and then start going on about respect and duty and expect me to just accept that." 

"Was leadership truly so horrific for you? You are a military man, Pellaeon. I doubt responsibility was all that traumatizing." 

"You really don’t understand, do you?”  _You’re not even bothering to try._  “This isn't about my leadership capabilities – this is about you! I did not keep this Empire alive solely because it was my duty or responsibility, but because I knew that you would have wanted me to fight tooth and nail for it! And just when I have failed you, you come back? How dare you! How dare you have the audacity to come back here after ten years of struggle and death and fighting a losing battle!"

"How dare I?" Thrawn hissed. "Would you preferred me to have never said anything at all? To have stayed on my little backwater planet, doing what you assume to be nothing, while you grasped at increasingly desperate solutions?" 

Some part of Thrawn's final remark had cut too deep. It was too close to what the Thrawn of his subconscious would have said.

It stung and burned all at the same time, and Pellaeon had to grit his teeth for a second against the burst of pain that coursed through him. He felt his eyes watering and he begged himself to just keep it together for a little longer.

"Of course I wouldn't have! I wanted you to come back! Even if I had just a hint that you were out there alive I would have done everything in my power to find you myself – but I didn't know, because you decided I didn’t need to know! Now you stand here, having known that I was failing, having done nothing to help, and act as if I have nothing to accuse you of?" 

"You can accuse me of whatever pleases you, Pellaeon." 

"I don't want accuse you of anything!" Pellaeon shouted, voice cracked. "Do you think that this is how I wanted this to go? That in any of the ways I had imagined this moment, I had ever dreamed of fighting – of hitting you?"

Never in a thousand different imaginings would he had guessed that it would have turned out this way. He wished it was different – he wished for the chance to make it different.

Deep down, beyond his own immediate feelings, he knew that he just wanted to tell Thrawn that it was okay – he wanted things to be okay. He wanted to reach out and touch Thrawn without the violence and the anger.

He wanted to tell Thrawn that he could find it in himself to forgive him because even though he had disappeared he was alive now and he was here, and that’s what mattered more than anything else.

It could have been so different. 

Pellaeon wanted to believe that it could have been different.

"The Empire believed in you! _I_ believed in you! You had everything in the palm of your hand and you just let it go! I can’t imagine what your purpose was but it doesn’t even matter because you were alive and you let the Empire crumble like we’re some backwater pirate gang!" 

"I let everything go? I was attacked, Pellaeon! I could not have been there to cause nor prevent the Empire's fall because my guard put a knife through my chest." 

"That is exactly my point: you were not there!"  _Let the anger carry you – do not focus on the image of Thrawn bleeding out in his own chair._  "And I don't understand why you can't just tell me why you weren't! You had to have had a reason to stay gone – you wouldn't have let it come to this if you did not have a reason!" 

"Captain--" 

"I am not a Captain!" The rage in Pellaeon’s voice surprised himself, and even Thrawn leaned back in what appeared to be some subdued reaction of shock in response. "I am the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy, and I will not be treated as anything less!" 

There was a long stretch of silence where Thrawn only stared at him, nothing beyond his own muted frustration on his features. Pellaeon glared back, and for a few moments he was worried that they had fallen into a staring contest.

He did not stop his own silent glare though, not until Thrawn blinked and gave him a curt nod.

"Of course," Thrawn said, voice cool and distant as he broke the silence. "I forgot myself. I can assure you that I will not have the audacity to make such a mistake again." 

The sarcasm was too much to have been missed and Pellaeon saw red for a second, until he managed to bite back his anger.

He could understand the slip up of calling him by the wrong rank and he will not allow himself to dwell on it. The last time they had seen each other – the last time they had fought – was when he had still been a captain beneath Thrawn's command.

The same reason Thrawn called him a captain is the same reason warning bells had begun going off in Pellaeon’s own mind. He may no longer have to take this man's orders, but that mentality is still there. There was still a voice in Pellaeon's head that screeched about how this man could have his head if he chose it – but that voice was grossly incorrect.  

Thrawn was no longer his commanding officer. Even if Thrawn had not given up his station, they would have been on more equal footing than ever before because of Pellaeon's current rank. 

There is no satisfaction in the knowledge. 

If anything, Pellaeon wanted that voice in his head to be right.

He wanted that fear when they fought. He wanted to have to take Thrawn's orders. He wanted his commanding officer back. 

He just wanted things to be simple again. He wanted everything to go back to how it had been ten years ago, when everything had been going so well for the Empire. When their fights revolved around strategies and plans – when nothing had ever even begun to broach the subject of personal matters.

Yet wanting had never accomplished anything for him in the past. There was no amount of wanting that would take him back to that time. 

The pain of the realization twists something in Pellaeon's chest, and for a moment he is grateful that his own anger has muted his other emotions. 

Anger at himself, Thrawn, this situation – he isn’t even sure anymore. He doesn’t even know if he cared.  

"That's what you think this is, don't you?"  _It should have never had to be like this._  "You think that this is a mistake."

Thrawn arched an eyebrow disdainfully. "I think that you are letting your emotions get the best of you."

"My emotions," Pellaeon repeated. "That you even have the gall to come aboard this ship after your absence and tell me that I haven't the right to be emotional is astounding." 

"Don’t misconstrue what I said. I never said that you haven't the right to feel whatever it is you are feeling, I simply said that you are allowing your emotions to dictate your actions." 

"Well, we can't all just turn off our feelings like you can." 

"How dare you--"

"Oh, how dare I _what_ , Thrawn? How dare I react in a way you didn't foresee?" Pellaeon lifted a hand, and pointed an accusing finger at the other man. "You thought you had this planned out, didn't you? Did you expect me to simply roll over when you came back, to just let you walk in and have me begging you to sweep my failures up under the rug--" 

He couldn't help but laugh – and if it sounded more like a sob, neither of the two men mentioned it.  

"You know, the worst of it is that I have never once failed the Empire! I have kept it alive and breathing, and I have kept its citizens safe to the best of my ability. Through this treaty, I will continue to keep our citizens safe and the Empire may even gain a few more planets when it is implemented. I feel no regret as far as that is concerned!

"But I have failed you, Thrawn. I could not win, not on my own, and in that loss I have failed you. _That_ is what you are not understanding! I have spent the last decade of my life terrified of a dead man's scorn – I have let that fear rule me and my decisions for years, and just when I put it aside for the betterment of the Empire, that man _shows back up_!" 

Thrawn’s lips were curled in a frown and the disapproval in his eyes was so strong they appeared to glitter. “You seem rather eager to blame me for your own failings.”

“I am blaming you for your choices, and their impact on the Empire,” Pellaeon clarified, and held Thrawn's gaze even as his voice shook. “It was not right for you to not inform me of your survival. It was not fair.”

“Life is so rarely fair.”

Pellaeon could not even believe what he had just heard.

It was as if Thrawn was talking to a child, scolding him, attempting to get Pellaeon to understand that things just would not go his way in the galaxy. 

The realization that perhaps that was how Thrawn viewed him - not as a peer who had been leading the war effort against the New Republic, but as some pathetic lieutenant who needed life guidance - was what finally broke him. 

“If you think that what you’ve done is that easily excusable then you should have just stayed on Nirauan!” Pellaeon shouted, then wished he could have taken the words back.

Thrawn’s expression shifted into something imperceptible, but it disappeared less than a second later. He had blanked his face completely in the span on an eye blink and Pellaeon knew then that he had made a mistake. 

"Is that truly what you would have preferred?"

That had not been what Pellaeon expected to hear.

The question caught Pellaeon off-guard, shocked him to the point of silence. He wanted to say something – tried to make his mouth move with the words that had suddenly crowded up in his head - but nothing came.

Thrawn seemed to take his silence as an answer and for a single moment Pellaeon saw his face fall before it hardened into a mask of unreadable stoicism.

That expression – that single glimpse of pain and uncertainty that seemed to mirror Pellaeon's own - made Pellaeon’s chest clench painfully.

“No, Thrawn – that wasn’t what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant.”

He could not even tell if he had been heard. Pellaeon could practically watch the gears as they turned in Thrawn’s mind, his eyes unfocused as he thought.

He had the sudden, powerful urge to walk over to Thrawn, to assure him that it had only been a slip of the tongue, just words that had been spoken in anger he didn’t mean them, _please don’t go_ \-- 

His legs would have given out beneath him if he had even tried. He was forced to stand against his desk because of his own body’s reactions, his knees locked and his weight pressed back into the sturdy wood so he wouldn’t collapse to the floor.

“I believe I have made a mistake in coming here.”

Thrawn’s voice was soft and unemotional when he spoke. It was disquieting to hear him so distant after all that had been said.

Pellaeon felt as if he had been suddenly pinned to the very spot where he stood by those few words. 

Thrawn’s vision seemed to refocus and he looked up at Pellaeon. For just a moment, Pellaeon was sure he saw something flicker in his red of his eyes - something that was reminiscent of that earlier glimpse of distress - and he thought that Thrawn would say something. He waited, hoped that he would say something, but in the end he said nothing.

Instead, he just turned on his heel and walked back to the door.

There were a thousand things that Pellaeon could have done or said to stop him, but his lips wouldn’t open and his knees shook with the thought of moving.

So he just watched him leave.

Thrawn didn’t turn around as he opened the door and stepped through. He didn’t even glance back as his hand slapped into the panel on the other side of the wall so hard Pellaeon thought he heard something crack before the door fell shut between them.

Pellaeon felt tears welling up in his eyes and this time he couldn’t care enough to try and stop them.

What would have been the point? There was no one else to prove anything to.

The one person he had ever tried to prove himself to had left, and it was because of him.

Pellaeon stared at the door and tried to understand what had just happened.

What even _had_ happened? When Pellaeon tried to think back to the fight that had occurred only a minute ago he could barely remember what had been said. What the point of any of it was.

There was too much pain involved, to many questions that he had needed to be answered which had been overlooked in his own anger.

It had been a disaster.

He _felt_ like a disaster.

He didn’t even know what he was supposed to do.

Now that the argument could not distract him, Pellaeon was aware of how dangerously weak his legs felt, and how standing up had started to make his stomach roll. The threat of either collapsing onto the floor or throwing up was enough to force him to move as best he could around his desk and gracelessly fall into his chair.

Sitting down helped his nausea marginally, but when he lifted his hand and saw how badly it was trembling it only made him feel worse. He could feel himself about to cry and while he supposed that it was the lesser of two evils when compared to vomiting, he still did not want Ardiff to see him like this if he happened to come back in.

He had just pressed his eyes closed in an attempt to stave of the tears a little longer when Thrawn’s final words drifted up, and his eyes popped back open in sudden realization.

_He’s going to leave again._

Pellaeon wasn’t sure if he could live through Thrawn leaving of his own free will because of something he had said.

To suspect that Thrawn had chosen another to lead had hurt despite the man being a fraud, but to know that the real Thrawn had rejected him and that it would have been his own fault--

_No. Don’t follow that thought._

Instead of allowing himself to dwell on the thoughts that attempted to crowd his mind Pellaeon busied his hands, forced himself to move and be productive even if it was only for a few moments. He turned to his desk and woke up the terminal that was situated on it, and typed out a message to Ardiff as quickly as his fingers could manage.

_“Do not let them leave this ship.”_

If there were no problems then Ardiff should still have plenty of time to keep the transport from leaving if Thrawn should attempt such a thing. He might be furious when he found out, but he would still be on the _Chimaera_ , and that is what mattered right now.

Pressing send on the message only provided Pellaeon with temporary relief.

He let his hands slip from the keyboard and felt himself go limp, a dark malaise overcoming him. It had been quite a while since he had last felt himself give in to the desire to just shut down, and of course it happened now when he should have been trying to figure out how he could fix this.

 _If_ he could fix this.

The thought that he may have ruined this – that he received what he had been hoping for a decade for and then _ruined it_ – was what finally twisted his heart enough to make it break.

He slumped over the desk, propped his arms up on it, and buried his face in his hands as he began to sob.

_I am not in the wrong._

Pellaeon did not know how long he sat there and told himself that, but never once had it felt true. 


	3. Chapter 3

Thrawn's palm came down hard enough on the door control button that he heard something crack inside of the paneling. 

A part of him partially regretted the pointless destruction – more so since the action drew the attention of the people who still stood outside of the office. The rest of him could not be bothered to care. He would pay out of his own pocket to fix the damages if he had to, but right now he needed to take his frustration out on something inanimate.

His eyes fell on Ardiff first and with that came the realization that he would now have to interact with people he had not seen in a decade. That thought had occurred to him before, but now it was tainted with a new realization – that these were people who may not even tolerate his presence.

Ardiff was staring back at him with some unfathomable mix of emotion. His mouth opened and then closed as if he wanted to say something but would not.

There was no doubt that the argument had been heard, if not in content then in volume. Thrawn could only hope that the walls that separated room from hallway were thick enough to inhibit eavesdroppers.

There was a dismissal for the captain was right on the tip of Thrawn’s tongue, some remnant piece of old habit that he did not even know he still had.

He bit it back, and swallowed it.

It was no longer his place to order around Pellaeon’s crew, though he was sure that Ardiff would have obeyed out of fear or some malformed notion respect.

He could not decide which of the two would have been worse.

Thrawn decided that it was better to not find out.

He turned his attention to Dympha and silently bid that he was to follow him with a sharp jerk of his chin before he turned on his heel and started down the hallway.

He didn’t bother to check if the man had listened. Dympha would have followed him regardless of if he had ordered him to and Thrawn truly had not wanted to see that expression on Ardiff’s face again. He was emotional enough without having to confront the betrayed expressions of his past subordinates.

He could hear the soft footfalls of Dympha’s boots on the floor behind him as he slowly caught up to Thrawn. The sound alone made his skin prickle in warning as his anger gave away to the suddenly urgent need to either fight or flee. It demanded that he react, to speed up his pace or at least turn around so he could keep an eye on the other man.

The way it mixed with his anger alone was frustrating enough to made him grit his teeth. It is ridiculous and embarrassing that the urge is still there after ten years. It’s unprofessional, unbecoming, and not what he wants to deal with right now. He knew that Dympha was not going to shove a knife through his back. The man has had his hands in Thrawn’s chest cavity, if he wanted to kill him he has had more than enough opportunities to do the job.

It does not stop the itch to retaliate that crawled just beneath his skin.

He forced himself to ignore it, to keep his footfalls even, determined not to let the habitual fear show through his body language even as he felt it like a physical pressure in his skull.

The steps came closer and the itch turned into a buzz, panicked, the ghost pain in his chest of something sharp being forced through flesh and bone spiked–

"I should check your blood pressure."

Dympha had always been a soft-spoken man, and the familiar tone did help take some of the edge off of his panic. The paranoia remained.

Without a word Thrawn stopped in the hallway and held out his arm to the other man, and tried to regulate his breathing, tried not to stare at the man’s other hand to make sure it was empty. Dympha took the offered limb and slid the sleeve of his tunic up to expose Thrawn's wrist, and pressed his fingers against a vein there. 

He stayed silent as Dympha worked, focused only on counting out his breathing.

A minute of silence passed before Dympha released his wrist. “Higher than I would prefer, but given the circumstances you should not collapse. It is nothing that rest will not help.” His eyes rose towards Thrawn’s face, but they stopped to focus on his mouth. “I need to stop the swelling.”

“Fantastic,” Thrawn deadpanned as his hand tugged at his sleeve absently. His voice came out even, if not a bit forced.

Dympha didn’t respond.

Despite himself Thrawn found that he was grateful for the silence. He was already on edge and the last thing he needed was his doctor’s brutally candid way of speaking.

It reminded him too much of the elders who appeared in his childhood, and while he was loath to admit it, he had grown used to the natural warmth that all humans possessed.

He started back down the hall and Dympha followed at a much closer distance this time. He knew that it made Thrawn feel less restless when people stayed nearby. Which meant that he probably noticed his panic. _Damn it_.

They walked in silence as they made their way back down the hall. Thrawn was grateful that Dympha was not a talkative man. There was no way he would have been able to keep his voice even if he had to say something now.

That also meant that he was left alone with nothing to distract him from the fear that still lingered. Nothing to keep the quiet thoughts of betrayal at bay, the whispers of dissent and lies that still haunted him.

Thrawn noticed that he had veered off the hallway’s path and he blinked to pull himself out of his thoughts. He had started to go down one of the branching halls that stretched out from the one they walked down. One that would have given them a more direct route towards his old quarters. 

He did not even know if he was welcome here, did not even know if his old quarters were still _his_ yet he had started off towards them out of old habit.

So much had changed while he had been on Nirauan, and yet everything on the _Chimaera_ was exactly as he remembered it. The sterile environment, the uniform walls, even the atmosphere of the ship itself was so familiar. Even though ten years had passed Thrawn knew that he could have still found his way around this ship if he needed to.

It made it easy to forget that any time had passed at all.

The thought made Thrawn’s stomach churn sickeningly.

He righted himself and began to walk down the hallway Pellaeon had originally taken them down. If the doctor wanted to ask what had just happened, he also knew that it was best if he kept his questions to himself.

The rest of the walk was uneventful, with only one tense moment in the lift when Thrawn had to ignore the single, pointed glance Dympha gave him.

They had yet to see another living being, until they reached the hangar bay.

A small group of stormtroopers stood around their transport, and Thrawn was certain that two of them were the ones they had brought along. As they approached the one of the troopers glanced their way and a moment later they all stood at a twitchy attention.

Thrawn was about to ask them what they were doing, but one of the troopers beat him to it with a sputter of static.

“Grand Admiral, sir? We have orders not to allow you to leave the _Chimaera_.”

Thrawn’s eyebrows knitted together fractionally. “Who’s orders?”

“Admiral Pellaeon’s, sir.”

Thrawn blinked.

“Admiral Pellaeon?” he repeated, his own surprise seeping into his voice.

“Yes sir.”

Not even minutes ago they were going at each other’s throats, and now Pellaeon had given out orders for Thrawn to be kept aboard? Not detained, just _kept_ _aboard_.

That was completely illogical.

It made no sense – Pellaeon had all but demanded he leave the ship before Thrawn had left the room.

Thrawn’s brain rushed to try and come up with a reason, and the only ones he could think of did not have pleasant intentions.

But Pellaeon was trustworthy. He had never failed Thrawn in the past, he rarely acted in a way that Thrawn did not expect.

_Until he hit me._

What did this _mean_?

Dympha stepped around Thrawn, prepared to continue the conversation before the silence stretched on for too long. “We are not going to leave, but we need to get aboard the transport.”

“Of course,” a second stormtrooper said, modulated voice calmer than that of the first. Thrawn thought he recognized her as one of the few who had traveled with them originally. She stepped aside, and after a moment of hesitation the rest of the troopers followed suite.

As he passed by he thought he heard one of the troopers say “Welcome back, sir,” but it was so quiet he could have imagined it.

His body felt distant and numb but Thrawn managed to make himself walk to and up the transport’s ramp without tripping over himself. Some distant part of his mind was grateful for it – Dympha having to catch him from falling once was quite enough.

He pressed a stiff finger to the door’s panel and slipped into the darkened interior of the transport.

Thrawn's palm slapped down on the interior door panel as soon as Dympha followed him in, and the door came down to block out the hangar bay and the small group of gathering stormtroopers. 

His head snapped over to where Dympha stood, eyes glittering in the darkness.

"What," he hissed in Cheunh. "Is that about?" 

The doctor glanced at him and shrugged a single shoulder. "We both have the same information. Sounds like they were ordered to keep us from taking off." 

"I heard their explanation.”

Thrawn was met with silence. He watched as Dympha crossed his arms over his chest, and stood staring at him. It was enough to get his point across, to ask the silent _Then what is your problem?_ that he would never voice.

Evidently his argument with Pellaeon had not been heard through the walls. Thrawn felt that his problem would have been self-explanatory otherwise.

He clenched his teeth and swallowed the bitter taste at the back of his throat.

"Pellaeon told me I should have stayed on Nirauan, and now he orders the stormtroopers to keep me here. For what purpose I cannot yet imagine but such captivity rarely ends well.”

Dympha blinked. In all the years Thrawn had known the man, he still could not figure out how he made it appear so condescending. 

"I doubt the Admiral’s intentions are so dark. Let us focus instead on the immediate." He motioned towards Thrawn’s face. “Your wound needs attention.”

He did not wait for Thrawn to respond before he turned on a heel and headed deeper into the ship. Thrawn watched him go, and took a deep breath to rein in his annoyance before he followed him.

Their movement triggered the ship’s sensors and the dimmed lighting panels flickered to life.

Thrawn almost winced as the light, and wished that they would have just stayed off. It was easier to hide one’s moods and expressions in the dark.

Ahead of him, Dympha came to a stop and opened the door to his quarters before stepping inside. Thrawn followed him inside, stood standing a few feet back as Dympha crouched down and reached beneath his bunk. As he pulled his arms back he held a dark bag that Thrawn knew held his medical supplies.

“Do you feel any unwarranted pain?” He asked as he set the bag on top of his cot, unfastened it, and began to pick through it.

“No.” Thrawn stepped further into the room so he could stand beside the crouched man. “Nothing beyond what is normal for a direct hit to the face. I do not need pain medication.”

Dympha hummed softly in response. It was a nearly toneless sound and if Thrawn had not spent the past ten years with the man he wouldn’t have been able to read the noise as the confirmation that it was.

“I’m sure your heart rate is still up,” Dympha said as he stood suddenly, just long enough to shove a bottle of disinfectant and a clean cloth into Thrawn’s hands. Then he was crouched over the bag again. “It is nothing to be worried about as long as you rest. You will be fine, as I said.”

“I’m aware. This is not the first time I have been punched,” Thrawn said as he popped the bottle’s cap open and carefully poured a splash of the liquid onto the cloth before he handed the bottle back to Dympha. He lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his lip; it stung, but he savored the pain.

Physical pain was something Thrawn was well versed in handling.

The guilty thing that had crawled up into his chest cavity and settled there since he had left Pellaeon's office was something he was significantly less familiar with. It wormed itself around his heart, his lungs, took his anger and twisted it around, until Thrawn was only angry with himself. 

It is a realization that made his skin crawl. His fingers pressed the cloth harder against the cut, and he focused on the burst of pain instead.

“I am sure. I am hardly worried about your external injuries. Do you feel nauseous?”

“No.”

“Good. Then you can take something. I am sure you will need it.”

There’s a quiet sound of tiny objects rattling around and Thrawn watched as Dympha lifted a large container from the bag and set it on the cot. Evidently, the portable pill case had been his goal.

The thing set him on the edge. Among the background checks, Thrawn had gone through Dympha’s more extensive medicine collection on Nirauan shortly after employing the doctor, and a few of the labels had made his eyebrows rise. Between questions of their authenticity and the legality of some of the contents, he could not help it if he felt some apprehension towards the container.

The intense glow of Dympha’s eyes as he stared at Thrawn over his shoulder did not help alleviate that anxiety.

“Do you want to rest or sleep?”

There was always a distinction with Dympha. Everything was about specifics. Though with the extent of his pharmacy, Thrawn could understand the need to be precise. To Dympha, pain was a vast scale of variances and the wrong use of a word could be the difference between gritting one’s teeth against some lingering ache or ending up drugged out of one’s mind, feeling absolutely nothing.

But this was a question that Thrawn was quite familiar with.

“Sleep.”

Without reply, the doctor turned back and popped open the case's lid. Sure fingers darted over pill bottle caps until he settled on one in particular, pulled it out of the square that held it still, and appeared to barely skim the label before he had twisted open the bottle’s cap.

He tipped the bottle and carefully shook it until two small pills rolled into his hand. Dympha set them aside on the cot, and recapped the bottle before he placed it back in its proper spot in the container.

Thrawn reached forwards and picked up one of the pills, and found some measure of peace in that he recognized it. Nothing more than a sleep aid, one he has had many times before. Powerful, but not addictive.

“You have twenty minutes after taking it.”

“I know,” Thrawn replied as he pocketed the pill. “I do not need reminders.”

“People die daily due to forgetfulness. I have yet to hear of a death caused by a reminder.”

Some mild annoyance at the comment threatened to provoke Thrawn’s frustration as the doctor began to repack his bag. He knew better than to remark on Dympha’s comments; it was pointless and usually led to philosophical conversations that lacked any form of enjoyment.

It had been years since he had spoken to someone purely for the enjoyment of it. It was rare that he even had a conversation that did not revolve around either a strategy or his health. Even Parck, who Thrawn had begun to consider something of a confidant over the past decade, often only spoke to him about his plans.

If he was being honest, the last time he could recall having a pleasant conversation that consisted of strictly trivial topics was with Pellaeon.

It was a pathetic revelation, if not also unsurprising. Thrawn had never been personable, and yet there were still those few people who had made that effort to extend some offer of professional friendliness towards him. Pellaeon had always been one of those few.

Companionship was rare aboard a warship, and the sort that was genuinely pleasant even less so. He had certainly valued Pellaeon's. 

He had hoped, all those years ago, that when the war was over Pellaeon and himself could have been – perhaps not friends, but something close to that.

His hopes had remained the same throughout the years, but he had not anticipated the extent that those ten years would have impacted Pellaeon.

He had not anticipated that perhaps Pellaeon would not return that want. Or that he had, but the desire for it had disappeared a long time ago.

Melancholy welled up in his chest, mixed with the guilt, and it felt as if he had been stabbed all over again. Thrawn closed his eyes against the wave of internal agony, and yearned for the anger he had repressed minutes before.

“I need to contact someone.”

“Of course,” Dympha mumbled and waved him off as he popped his own pill into his mouth and swallowed it dry. “Ah, wait.” He reached back into his bag and pulled out a thin, rectangular cuboid. He took it between both hands and bent it until something inside cracked and then shook it before he handed it to Thrawn. It was cold to the touch, and Thrawn arched an eyebrow in lieu of a question. “For the swelling. Wrap the cloth around it,” Dympha explained simply, before turning back to his bag.

Thrawn did as the man suggested before he pressed the makeshift ice pack to his lip. The disinfectant still stung, but the coolness did sooth the wound to some extent.

It would have to do for now.

He did not waste any time as he exited the room. Closing the door behind himself he turned and started towards the cockpit, where the ship’s single holoprojector was located. He stepped through the doorway and seated himself in the pilot’s chair before turning on the projector. He was careful not to touch anything else on the controls – anything above low power would probably alert the troopers and Thrawn did not know if he had the patience to deal with that at that moment.

He double checked the encryption on it before he initiated the call. The chances of it getting by the _Chimaera’s_ scanners where slim, but the safety measures where meant more for any nonimperial listeners.

If anyone aboard took issue with it then they could come to him about it, and it was extremely doubtful that any would dare approach the transport unless it was an emergency.

Once the encryption was cleared and the signal came back as strong, Thrawn keyed Parck and sat back to wait.

 It was only half a minute later when the projector flashed, and a tiny version of the human from the chest up appeared in holo form. 

"You're later than I expected." 

The video and audio seemed to be synchronized with one another. It was more than he had hoped for with the current distance between the _Chimaera_ and Nirauan.

Thrawn only stared at the image of the other man and lowered the ice pack from his face. Parck's eyebrows arched up towards his hairline and the holo leaned back, presumably into a chair. "Oh." 

"Dympha has already sterilized the wound, but there is not much he can do for the bruising beyond this." He held up the pack before letting it drop into his lap. "However, Pellaeon has not demanded that we leave the ship." 

“I’m hoping that’s still a good thing given recent events?”

There was an understandable amount of hesitation in Parck’s voice; it made Thrawn pause in thought before he answered. His belief that Pellaeon would not ask them to leave the ship had been proven correct, and yet it felt like nothing more than an empty victory. 

“Yes. While this particular reaction was unexpected, Pellaeon’s permission to stay aboard was the optimal outcome.”

Parck nodded slowly. “I see.”

Clearly he didn’t know what to say. Thrawn could not find it in himself to blame the man. He hardly knew what to say himself and he had lived the experience.

Silence fell over the other two and slowly the tension drained out of Thrawn’s shoulders, his expression softened enough to show the weariness he felt down in his bones.

He wanted to collapse over the desk. The ridiculous notion of beating his head against it also held a certain level of appeal.

So much had gone so wrong. It had all happened so fast, the violence, the words.

Pellaeon hadn’t wanted to listen to him and he knew how impossible it was to get someone who wouldn’t listen to communicate.

The heavy stone of guilt in his chest said that he should have tried harder.

Thrawn lifted a hand and rubbed it across his face.

"Am I doing the right thing, Voss?"

At the sound of his first name Parck's demeanor shifted from that of a subordinate to one of a friend. Overall, it just made him look more uncomfortable. "You know that I can't answer that, Thrawn." 

"Try." 

Parck huffed audibly with a shake of his head. There was a long moment of silence as he ran a hand through his hair, lost in though. "You're being honest with the Empire and Pellaeon for the first time in a decade. I cannot see anything about that having a negative impact, as long as we are speaking long term. I think your return will work wonders for the Empire and moral. However, just because something is right does not mean that it's for the best. What are you not telling me?"

"What do you mean?" 

"Thrawn, I have known you for a very long time and something as small as a punch is not going to make you doubt your own decision. What else happened?" 

It was Thrawn’s turn to shift uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes drifted away from Parck’s for a moment, before he forced himself to return his focus on the other.

"After Pellaeon hit me we got into a verbal altercation," he said, his voice a forced calm. "We both reacted poorly." 

 Parck made a noise of understanding, as if that had just explained everything. “I can imagine how well that went.”

“While I have faith in your abilities, I do not know if your imagination could do it justice.”

“It went that bad?”

“He told me I should have stayed on Nirauan.”

There was nothing but silence from Parck on the other end of the call.

It felt oppressive, another heavy weight that was added to rest on the center of his chest. It was as if Parck’s own quiet reaction made it finally seem real.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but did you actually explain anything to him?”

The guilt in Thrawn’s chest climbed up into his throat and threatened to wrap its fingers around his airway. “No,” he choked out. “I am afraid that it may have slipped my mind after his punch made contact.”

Parck pressed a hand to his face, groaned and swore under his breath. “Damn it, Thrawn.” He lowered his hand and leveled the man with a glare that he wouldn’t have dared use years ago. “So you’ve accomplished all but nothing with this trip.”

“I have accomplished the main goal,” Thrawn corrected with a glare of his own.

“Staying aboard the ship hardly matters without the follow-up.” Parck gave him a pointed look and Thrawn didn’t bother to reply. The man was right after all.

“Try to see things from his perspective, all right? From what you’ve told me and what I’ve seen over the past few years, Admiral Pellaeon does not strike me as a man that resorts to physical violence without a reason.”

“No,” Thrawn agreed. He had to close his eyes against the sudden lurch of emotion in his chest as he spoke. “He is a good man.”

Parck nodded in agreement. “I think you should make the effort to just relax for the rest of the night. Let Dympha do his job and then get a full night’s rest. But, because I know you, I think the chances of that happening are slim.”

There was something almost sympathetic in Parck’s eyes that Thrawn disliked.

“So instead of letting yourself run your mind into the ground, I’ll just give it something to focus on until tomorrow. Regarding your first question, I think the most important thing for you to answer is do _you_ think you are doing the right thing?"

That was the question, wasn’t it?

The problem was that Thrawn no longer knew the answer.

Not even an hour ago Thrawn would have been confident in his answer. Of course he had done the right thing. Between health concerns and his obligations on Nirauan, returning had been impossible – but now he had gotten everything settled and his own body was no longer at an immediate risk of failing.

To come back to the Empire and offer whatever he could was obviously the right choice.

After Pellaeon’s reaction he felt plagued by sudden doubts.

He felt like a fool.

“You’re already overthinking,” Parck interrupted. “I can feel it from here. Let’s just see where this goes. He hasn’t asked you to leave, so obviously he wants you there. Hell, evidently, he has ordered you to stay on that ship. I doubt you’re in any danger beyond what you’ll do to yourself.”

“I am well aware of my situation,” Thrawn hissed. “I do not recall asking you to mother me.” He knew that he was taking out his own frustration on the nearest person, but it made him feel better.

Parck only cocked an eyebrow at him, unconcerned by his snappishness. If anything, he was more used to it than anyone else, perhaps even Dympha. “Just consider what I have said – and please do not stress yourself out too much. I don’t want to get a health alert in the middle of the night from Dympha again.”

That was enough to deflate Thrawn a bit. “Of course.”

“Good. I just want you to try to be safe while you’re there.” Parck let a tired smile spread over his mouth. “And you will be, if you just relax a little. I have to go and get to a meeting, but if you need anything then just call.”

Thrawn gave him a nod before cutting the connection.

The purposeful scuff of a boot drew Thrawn from his thoughts and he turned in his chair to see Dympha standing in the cockpit's entrance.

“Are you going to do anything else?”  

Thrawn sighed and leaned back into his chair. He glanced over to one of the screens on the control board, and checked the time readout. “The night cycle will begin in less than half an hour. I think it would be best if we both stayed here for its duration.”

Dympha nodded once, slowly. “I shall be at my cot.” He turned and started back down the narrow hall of the transport to his room.

Thrawn wouldn’t be alone tonight on the transport then. He had hoped that he would have at least an hour to himself so he could work through his thoughts alone.

He allowed a shred of his exhaustion slip through his own veil of tightfisted control.

He was not some idealistic fool. Of course he had not expected everything to go perfectly. He knew that there would be issues of trust and authenticity. He had anticipated them and planned around those setbacks accordingly.

But he had not anticipated Pellaeon’s anger.

He could not have.

There had been nothing in the reports he had received from his eyes and ears aboard the _Chimaera_ that would have led him to believe he _should_ have anticipated such a reaction.

The reports had mentioned Pellaeon’s grieving, the drops in moral, the slow suffocating death of the Galactic Empire. Each were a necessary evil, and all of which he had predicted without the help of reports. Simple cause and effect – a child could have figured it out.

Nothing had made mention of whatever anger had festered in Pellaeon. Even as he thought everything over Thrawn could think of nothing that would have tipped him off to its presence.

In the argument Pellaeon had taken offense to everything from his timing to his resignation. None of which even mattered in the long-term. Everything – while not optimal – had been carefully planned out. Thrawn had prepared a plan of action for every possibility, every contingency.

But, as Parck had pointed out, he had not explained any of that to Pellaeon.

Thrawn slumped further in the chair, and let his head fall back against the back of it.

There was nothing like the fatigue that came with a plan falling apart when you were at a loss for how to mend it.

He reached up with a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

_What am I doing?_

He was still angry, but more at himself than at Pellaeon. There was something that he had missed, there must have been. For Pellaeon to resort to assault, and then order his subordinates to keep Thrawn aboard his ship after telling him to leave – there was some explanation that Thrawn could not see.

It was so rare that he overlooked something.

It would have been a simple conclusion to just say that Pellaeon did not want him here, but then he would not have taken the precautions to make sure he could not leave. Although, perhaps it was that Pellaeon saw the military advantage to having Thrawn stay.

Perhaps he did not personally want Thrawn here, but he was willing to overlook his own wants to help the Empire.

It was a possibility that had enough merit to leave on the table along with the other dozens of possibilities.

It was also one that made his chest ache more than it should have.

That there were thoughts that held that power over him was nearly intolerable and he tried to force the thought out, focus on something else, redirect it towards a different emotion.

Nothing helped, but he was accustomed to that.

He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out the sleeping pill. He held it between two fingers as he studied its smooth surface and purple color – tried and failed to ignore the urge to mentally compare it to every other time he had taken the sleep aid, to try and figure out if it was real or a fake.

There was no way to know either way, unless he demanded it be tested somehow.

Some part of his mind knew that he was being ridiculous, but knowing that did not help the urge that itched just below his skin. It was the same urge that had him repeatedly checking the lock on his door every night until he eventually collapsed on his bed from medically induced exhaustion.

There were perhaps two or even three people who knew both when and where he was going. He had watched Dympha take one, and he had dumped them out of a bottle full of many. Dympha was trustworthy, as far as his practice went. He never let anyone else near his bag, unless he stood right next to them. There was no way for an assassin to slip a fake pill in the bottle and still guarantee that Thrawn would be the one to get it.

 _This will not kill me_ , Thrawn tried to reason with himself.

His mind responded with a dozen of scenarios, each more gruesome than the last but all with the same ending.

With a resigned sigh, he forced himself to slip the pill between his lips and stood to go get a glass of water.

Sorting through his thoughts would have to wait until tomorrow.

With the morning came a rested mind, and hopefully tomorrow’s morning would come with a solution to his newest problem. 


	4. Chapter 4

As Pellaeon wiped his hands down his face he realized that he had been living under a grievous misconception.

A delusion that he had actually moved on with his life, that he had gotten better. That while he was not in perfect condition he had still worked his way through the healing process and came out the other side a well and whole person.

With how he had reacted towards Thrawn it was clear just how wrong he had been, how obvious it was to see that he had never healed.

If he was better then he would not have been so angry, so hurt.

Clearly all he had done was slap a patch over the hole where his heart had been carved out. It had been enough to cover the problem, to hide it from the therapists and, evidently, himself. It was enough to have kept him from deflating into nothing more than a moving corpse, from vomiting his emotions across every surface he encountered.

It was hard to believe that he'd thought that he had moved on, that his need to throw himself into his work was just his way of focusing his attention onto something more productive.

He could barely understand how he could have been so blind. Not when the truth of the matter was that he had ignored his own pain and every warning sign that had come with it, and in the end he had merely created an incubator for his own bitter anger.

He had kept his pain hidden like a disease, but that had only allowed it to eat him from the inside out. Until he was nothing more than a uniform held up by protocols and a flimsy excuse for a whole man.

Yet even a patch was better than nothing.

Until someone came along and ripped it off.

And now here he was, no better than how he had been doing during those first few months after the assassination attempt.

It felt as if he had sunk back into that pit of despair, so familiar with it that it merely welcomed him back into its depths.

That was the thing he had learned about hitting rock bottom.

There was always room to sink a little further.

And no matter what progress you thought you made, it only took a single misstep for you to fall back down again.

That step was the realization that he had mourned a man who did not deserve it, a man who was alive.

He supposed that he was still mourning, even now, in this very moment. Mourning a lie that had impacted the lives of billions, crying for every single inch of Imperial territory that had been lost, for the wasted years and sleepless nights.

When the tears finally stopped flowing, Pellaeon felt raw and empty.

His eyes strung when he closed them and pressed his palms against them to alleviate the discomfort. It did not help. He dug his palms in harder anyway.

Why did he always do this to himself? He did not understand it. 

In the past, the idea of Thrawn's survival had always been a purely hypothetical situation. It was meant for the truly abysmal nights, when his mind was bent on torturing itself and he was intoxicated enough to allow it. 

But now it was real. 

Thrawn was alive and healthy and  _real_. 

And it made every sleepless night feel like a waste. 

It made every moment when he had found himself reminiscing on the good memories he still clung to feel like a sham. 

Thrawn’s return should have been an event to celebrate. He should have been making announcements to the crew, working out how they were going to integrate this into the Empire’s plans and what their next move would be.

Instead it caused a fight and left Pellaeon holed up in his office as his overwrought mind tried to process each new thought as they pulled him in a thousand different directions.

_He was alive and he didn't tell me._

That somehow hurt worse than when Pellaeon had thought that Thrawn had picked Disra over him. 

It was an unreasonable train of thought and he knew it. This was the exact situation with the con man, except he no longer had to doubt. He no longer had to wonder if Thrawn would have chosen him because he  _had_. Thrawn had came back and _he picked Pellaeon._

It felt wrong of him to have accepted the conman’s choice of flagship, but to then lash out when the real Thrawn showed up at his doorstep. He  _knew_  that it was wrong. It was not fair or right to either of them to act like this.

But  _by the stars_ , it felt just as wrong to discover that Thrawn had been alive all this time and had not told him. That he had never even tried to contact him.

It felt wrong that Thrawn returned to nothing but failure.

If he could have held his own against the New Republic, if he could have just kept the Empire together, this reunion could have gone so differently.

He could have been proud of the Empire’s success. He could have stood tall and without worry of any disappointment. There would not have been a conman, there would not have been a treaty, and there would not have been a reason for him to react so negatively. 

It would not have changed the foul taste in his mouth – a taste that was so focused on Thrawn’s abandonment of _him_ specifically, that was bitter and angry and hurt that Thrawn had left _him_ – but it would have lessened it. He wouldn’t have felt such a desire to hit the man. It could have been a civil, joyous return to be celebrated.

Instead there was just the angry, volatile thing that churned in his chest. The thing that was crafted with harsh memories and disquiet thoughts, made in the image of a bloodied uniform and blue lips that were stained with red flecks upon every word, every utterance of  _You deserve this, You brought this upon yourself._  

That thing had caused a fight that did not need to happen. If only he could have just stayed calm, if he had not hit the other man, perhaps they could have just talked about it. Pellaeon could have gotten the answers he wanted, and Thrawn could have rested assured that he was wanted here.

It made Pellaeon feel worse – _guilty_ – which in turn fed the mass in his chest. It was a never-ending cycle, a serpent that had bit into its own tail and kept on biting, swallowing, shrinking the circle until eventually there was nothing left. 

Pellaeon wondered if it was possible to become addicted to despair. It would be an explanation for this habit of abuse – yet perhaps that was merely wishful thinking. 

For there to be an addiction implied that there was also a cure. 

Every time his body tried to settle on an emotion there was another one right behind it that vied for his attention. 

And yet, if he kept peeling back each one of the darkened layers that coiled and knotted in his chest he could still feel that damnable relief at all of this. It was buried deep – so, so deep below the abyss of distress and anger. That spark of happiness, that flicker of hope that had grown into something real, something actualized. That same bright thing that had caused him to tell Ardiff that he could be happy with Thrawn living – be it with him or a Moff – that just the knowledge that he was alive would be enough for him. 

Now it burned just a little brighter with the fact that Thrawn had picked no other before him – yet it was still swaddled in the shame of having failed him. 

There could be no celebration of Thrawn's return because it was tainted with disappointment. An otherwise victorious moment, smeared by his own incompetence. 

His stomach pitched in revulsion at the thought and Pellaeon once again felt the real fear of possibly vomiting since he had sat down. 

He would have assumed that after ten years he could have handled anything thrown at him. That all those years of grieving had done something to help him move on.

Clearly Pellaeon had not moved on near as much as he thought he had. Evidently his show of being calm and collected had been for himself as much as it was for his crew; it seemed to have fooled both parties equally well.

Thrawn had clawed his way back from death somehow, someway, had returned to the Empire as he had all those many years ago after Endor, and once again chose the _Chimaera_ as the first ship to know of his presence.

And it was not enough.

He should have known better than that. 

He had been so mistaken to assume that he would have been okay with Thrawn’s return, that he would have been happy with only Thrawn being alive. 

And it was  _so wrong_  of him to be selfish, to be ungrateful now when this was all he had hoped for in the quietest recesses of his mind for the past decade.

When in his lowest moments it had been the thought of a dead man’s disappointment in him that had kept him waking up every day, even as victory after victory slipped through his fingers.

He could still remember those few middle years that were best left ignored until they could be forgotten by time. When his sadness had unraveled into something horrid that had filled his chest like a weight, made it hard to move or breathe.

When he had been surrounded by hundreds of people every day and still he had felt so alone.

When he had spent countless nights sitting at the edge of his bunk, unable to sleep and incapable of doing anything other than let thoughts and memories play themselves out over and over again.

He had felt only tired and empty during those years, and desperate for an answer to his troubles. For something to make it stop.

And when the lack of rest muddled his judgement enough for the desperation to create dangerous ideas in his head, all he had thought about was Thrawn.

Ironically, it had been one of the few times he could recall the admiral without the blood stains.

His stomach gave a violent churn and Pellaeon stood up from his chair quickly enough that he almost knocked the thing over and clamped a hand over his own mouth to fight the nausea that climbed up his throat.

 _People_ , his mind clamored. He needed to be around other people. The threat of his crew seeing his weakness had always been enough for him to keep himself in line in the past. It would work again now.

He stepped around his desk, intent on exiting the office when a thought occurred to him. He froze, not even two steps towards his destination, his hand still clamped against his mouth.

It was too soon. He was sure his face was too gaunt and his eyes had turned that hazy red color that always lingered after he had cried. There was no way to hide his own breakdown, and chances were that the stormtroopers were still outside the door. He did not need or want some worried trooper getting word back to Ardiff about the state he was currently in. 

Perhaps even more worrisome, he didn’t know where Thrawn had stormed off to after he left the room. The thought of seeing the man again so soon made his stomach roil in a new wave of anxiety and more tears sprang to his eyes. 

He swore under his breath viciously, tilted his head back and looked upwards in an attempt to stave off the inevitable. 

It felt as if his body was finally giving up under the stress his own mind put him under.

The saddest part of it was that it had not been Thrawn’s absence that had triggered this, but his sudden return.

Finally, he had been tipped back over the edge of what he could handle and it was done by the universe granting him the one thing he had begged it for.

And he was so worried that, despite everything, it was just too late to make any difference. It was certainly too late for it to help the Empire fend off the New Republic. It should have at least been too little of an effort on Thrawn’s part for Pellaeon to accept him back so quickly.

Yet he had already given the order to keep the transport aboard. It was too late to change his mind now and even that assumed that he even wanted to change his mind.

It seemed that he had to face the fact there was no such thing as too little or too late when it came to Thrawn. 

Pellaeon felt that he should have been ashamed of that. That he was so willing to allow Thrawn back aboard his ship, back into his life when Thrawn had just thrown him aside and left him there in the dark for the past ten years. 

To Pellaeon, Thrawn had been everything. 

Yet to Thrawn, it seemed that Pellaeon was still just a subordinate who couldn't keep up. Who could just be cast aside when he was not needed for a plan.

He was disposable.

 _Unnecessary_. 

In a way, he supposed he deserved it.

Served him right for having put all of his faith in a single man.

The thought did little to help him in his efforts to hold back the next round of tears.

Stars above, he had started to feel embarrassed with himself. To think that he had believed he had held himself together fairly well these past few years and now here he was, an absolute wreck in his own office. 

Perhaps Thrawn was right in his decision to not tell him anything. First the treaty, and now this? He could not even manage to have a civil conversation with his old superior and he expected Thrawn to lay out all of his plans for him? The man had barely ever wanted to explain himself when he knew that he had Pellaeon’s full trust!

No wonder Thrawn had not told him of his survival.

Pellaeon swore under his breath. He was not sure if it was meant for himself, Thrawn, or this whole damn situation, but he knew that he had to pull himself out of this one way or another. He could not let himself fall back down into that black pit of despair.

He had worked hard to drag himself to some semblance of peace and he would not allow Thrawn to take that away from him.

Even if he had to fight his own urge to sink every step of the way.

He had to focus on his crew, on leading them into this new chapter – and whatever it held in store for them. All he had to do was concentrate on what he could do and fix, throw himself into his work as he had done all those years ago.

Ignore the pain and the guilt, bury it so deep that it would never see the light of day again.

Pretend he was not tired and hurt until it became true, or at least as true as it ever could be.

_Pull yourself together._

His meeting with Thrawn had left him with more doubts and questions than answers. His focus needed to be on what answers he could possibly gain from the man. He needed to decide what questions he could live without ever being answered, and which he required the answer to, so he could move on with the Empire’s plans – and whatever new plan Thrawn would inevitably drag him into.

Thrawn had to have a plan. He would not have waited this long if he had not been doing _something_ , and he certainly would not have come back without one.  

Pellaeon _knew_ Thrawn. He liked to believe that he knew him well – better than any other Imperial aboard the  _Chimaera,_  at least. He knew that Thrawn always had no less than three plans going at any given time.

There had to be a reason to not tell Pellaeon that he was alive. No matter how ridiculous, or far-reaching, or implausible, he must have had some sort of motive. There was no other purpose for Thrawn to keep that information from him otherwise.

There was a reason, even if Thrawn did not think Pellaeon needed to hear it.

At least, Pellaeon _thought_ there was.

There was a soft ping from his terminal. Pellaeon glanced back at it before he stepped back over to his chair and sat down.

_"Understood. The message has been passed along, sir. The transport has been assigned a watch team."_

With a heavy sigh Pellaeon gave the message an approving nod. At least someone aboard this ship had some sense about them. 

He closed the message and powered down the terminal. If anything else needed his attention it could either wait until morning or someone would comm him if it was important enough.

Right now he needed the time to try and formulate some sort of action plan. Strategy appealed more to him now than analyzation.

He leaned back in his chair and thought, absently tapping a thumb against the top of the desk.

It was difficult to concentrate, but old habits died hard and soon enough he had his feelings firmly bottled up (as bottled up as they could get at least, though he had the nasty feeling that today’s events had put a crack in it and it was only a matter of time until something bled back out) and he contemplated what he should do about Thrawn.

The knock on the door that came minutes later was expected, but it was also unwelcome. After what had happened Pellaeon knew that someone would have to come check on him, but he had hoped for a little more time to compose himself.

Pellaeon considered ignoring it for the time being but then it came again, louder, more insistent, and he sighed through his clenched teeth.

He turned his chair until it was perpendicular to the door and propped an elbow up on the desk so he could keep one hand on his face to keep it blocked. Finally, he reached towards the control panel on his desk with the other hand and tapped the button to open the door.

A moment passed before he heard footsteps as the person walked a few steps into the room with some trepidation, if the uneasy click of boots against the floor was anything to go by. Pellaeon kept his face away from the doorway, even as he heard the person come to attention.

“I have relayed your orders, sir. The officers in the hangar bay know that the transport is not to leave this ship.”

It was Ardiff’s voice. Some small part of Pellaeon was a little relieved that it was not one of the other officers instead. His captain seemed capable of some amount of sympathy. At the very least he knew enough not to just flat out ask if Pellaeon was _okay_.

“Thank you,” Pellaeon responded. His voice was not quite even, but he knew that there was no real way to fake any sort of calmness to those who knew him well enough. “I will be retiring to my quarters shortly. I do not want to be disturbed except for in the case of an emergency.”

“Of course, sir.”

Pellaeon waited for the sound of footsteps to indicate the man had made his escape, but he heard nothing but silence. He could not see him, but Ardiff’s urge to speak was almost palpable; Pellaeon imagined that he could almost see the man’s lips as they twisted in an effort to decide what to say.

He heard a soft sigh of resignation and clenched his eyes shut, his body stiffening as if preparing for a blow.

“Admiral,” Ardiff finally began, having made his decision. “I know it is not my place to say anything—“

“Then _don’t_ ,” Pellaeon snapped as he dropped his arm and glared up at the other man. He could clearly see the worry etched across the other man’s face; the concern only deepened when his eyes met Pellaeon’s.

As if he just realized Pellaeon was looking at him, Ardiff quickly trained his face into a more neutral expression. His eyes betrayed him though; he could still see the sympathy he clearly felt in them.

It made Pellaeon deflate somewhat and he slumped back into his chair. He found himself unable to make further eye contact and turned his head. “Just don’t.” He would have to trust that Ardiff would ignore the way his voice wavered as he spoke. “ _Please_.”

“Yes, sir.”

He still sounded as if he wanted to say something, and Pellaeon could not help but recall the nod of approval Ardiff had sent his way when he had cracked Thrawn across the mouth.

If his head were in a better place, then his curiosity might have been enough for Pellaeon to want to hear what he had to say.

Right now, he did not think he could take it.

He waved a hand in dismissal. Ardiff saluted him and turned on his heels back towards the door. Evidently, the man only needed some visual confirmation that Pellaeon was alive, even if he would have a difficult time trying to get to sleep tonight.

A thought occurred to Pellaeon and he opened his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Ardiff,” Pellaeon called out and the captain stopped to turn back towards the other man. “I need you to do something for me, if you can.”

“Of course, sir.”

Pellaeon inhaled a slow breath. This would certainly fall under allowing his crew to see his vulnerability but _kriff it_ , there was no way Ardiff had not realized he had been sobbing only minutes before his entry.

“Go to the sickbay and have them send some sort of sleep aid medication to my quarters within the next quarter hour. I don’t care if they have to send it with a droid or a person who has to watch me take it, just make sure it happens.”

Hells, even if this didn’t count as showing weakness it certainly counted as wasting Imperial assets. They did not have time for Pellaeon to be sending officers out on errands.

But it was not like he made a habit out of it and he would honestly rather jet himself out of an airlock than deal with the medical crew onboard in the state he was in. They were difficult enough to deal with when he had all his wits about him and trying to argue with them over the merits of pills versus talking to a therapist again did not appeal to him.

Ardiff did not question him on his request; he only nodded and turned back to exit through the door.

Pellaeon made himself relax as much as he could back into his chair as something that felt like relief rushed through him.

Now all he needed to do was give Ardiff enough time to follow his order.

It was only fifteen minutes, he was more than capable of doing that.

All he had to do was sit here, relax, and not allow himself to work back into a mental frenzy of panic.

Stress had put many a good leader into an early grave and Pellaeon had to make sure he did not join that list too soon.

 _Compartmentalize_ , he told himself. _Decide what is unimportant and shove it so deep it'll never see the light of day again._

Easier said than done perhaps, but the admiral had had many years of practice.

It helped that he had bigger things to focus on, new trails and tribulations that each required a solution as soon as possible.

He needed to figure out what he needed to do to fix this situation or at least think up a way to put himself in a position to start formulating a solution.

The Empire had been given a gift and he would not squander it. Pellaeon had to focus on what was important: Thrawn was back, and for whatever reason he had chosen now to be the proper time to return.

They had to regroup, recalculate and prepare for whatever was about to come.

Pellaeon was no longer sure if he had any faith in either Thrawn or himself at this point—

_(What good was a man that ignored his obligations for a decade and then remained aloof upon returning to the shambling remains of what he left behind?_

_What good was a commander who could not hold the front line and had resorted to signing a treaty with the blood of the soldiers he could not save?)_

— and yet he felt that he had no other choice than to believe, because if Thrawn was back then that could only mean one thing.

Something was coming.

There was no way to know if it was a threat or an opportunity, but Pellaeon could practically feel it in the air – hell, he could all but taste it.

This single event had set the wheels of fate in motion and there had been a shift in the narrative.

Whatever it was, they needed to be ready, regardless of how Pellaeon felt on the matter.

The return of the last grand admiral was infinitely more important than the feelings of an old man.

He glanced at the chrono on his desk and decided that someone on the medical staff should have had enough time to fulfill his request by now.

 _If_ it had been fulfilled.

By the Sith, it better have been fulfilled because if he had to go down to the sickbay and embarrass himself further there would be hell to pay.

He did not bother with an attempt to check himself over before he left; there was no mirror in the room and there was little point in trying to use the reflective screen of the dark terminal as one.

All of his effort accumulated into a single tug on the end of his uniform jacket to smooth out any wrinkles that had formed while he sat and even that was mostly habitual anyway.

It would have to do.

The door opened with the press of a button.

The area just outside of it was empty and Pellaeon’s relief was instantaneous.

It was impossible to relax completely though. He still had to make it back to his quarters without earning any odd looks from a passerby.

His fears where quite unwarranted, as he soon discovered.

The halls he chose to walk down remained devoid of life, and while he thought he heard the occasional click of footsteps down one of the hallways that branched off, he never actually saw anyone.

With how calm the ship was it could have been easy to believe that he had just dreamed the whole debacle. Yet his heart hung heavy and without any distractions his hand had began to feel sore where his fist had connected with a face.

No, there would be no way he would be able to convince himself that all of this had been a particularly nasty fever dream.

Although if he wanted this to be a dream, then he might as well have wanted Thrawn to still be dead. 

He refused to consider that – _put it in the bottle and bury it_ , he reminded himself.

If his thumb pressed into the lift call button more brutally than what was required, he would blame it on nerves.

The universe seemed to have finally decided that enough was enough for the day – the lift was blessedly empty when it opened.

The ride to his floor was thankfully just as uneventful as his walk down the hall, though that was in no small part due to him keeping his finger jabbed against the button that kept the doors closed and the lift from stopping.

When the lift finally stopped and the doors opened Pellaeon started down the hallway, trying to not look to visibly relieved that the area by his own door was devoid of any doctors. He could, however, see a mouse droid as it rolled back and forth in front of his door, a pill bottle placed precariously on top of it.

Pellaeon rolled his eyes as he stepped off of the lift.

As he approached the door to his quarters he pulled his code cylinder out of his pocket with one hand and bend down to grab the bottle with the other. The droid took off down the hallway as soon as its parcel was delivered and Pellaeon watched it go for a few seconds before he glanced at the bottle.

Now he saw why a person had not been sent – the bottle only held two pills. It would be enough to get him to sleep, but not enough for him to try anything he may regret.

The medics certainly knew how to send some conflicting messages.

 _We trust you enough to only send a mouse droid, but not enough to give you anything more than what is_ absolutely _necessary._

He began to slip the cylinder into the slot but stopped halfway, and glanced over at another door further down the hall.

The door to Thrawn’s quarters had remained closed and the rooms themselves empty ever since he had ordered them be sealed off so long ago. Any useful information his quarters held had been gathered by Pellaeon himself years ago and he saw no reason that another being should step into them after that.

He knew that he would never be able to live in them himself. The few times he had to go in often either left him on the verge of tears or with the disquiet feeling of having invaded Thrawn’s space.

Pellaeon supposed that Thrawn would want them back now that he had returned.

He made a mental note to have the doors fixed where they could be opened once again and finally unlocked his own door.

As he stepped in and locked the door behind himself he realized that he still had one final obligation.

Damage control.

Based on their earlier conversation and argument, Pellaeon felt that he could safely assume that no other Imperial vessels knew of Thrawn’s return. Nor did he think that Thrawn would want to make any announcements so soon after their blow out. Not until they had both gotten a night’s rest and time to cool off.

An official announcement could wait until the morning shift then.

However, that meant that he had to keep any information isolated to the _Chimaera_ until then. People had already seen Thrawn in the hangar bay, and since he had not left his meeting with Pellaeon in a body bag the crew would assume that this was not something as simple as another con.

If word had not already spread to every single crewmember, it would soon.

And with gossip that good, something as simple as a ship wide order for everyone to keep any information to themselves would not get him very far.

With a huff he popped the bottle’s cap and swallowed the two pills dry before he walked further into the room to where his work desk was located.

He did not bother with the chair as he turned on his own terminal and accessed what he could of the ship’s security controls. He reset the system’s perimeters to catch any outgoing messages containing key terms such as “Thrawn” or “grand admiral”, and then reroute them back to the _Chimaera_ to then be deleted.

It was not perfect but it would have to do for the time being.

If anything did manage to get out, chances were that the receiving party would just assume that it was an _extremely_ off-color hoax. The timing was still too close to the conman’s discovery for anything to be taken seriously if it did not come through official channels.

With that countermeasure done he started to undress while he walked back towards the bed.

He had just sat down to remove his boots when he realized that he should have left the terminal on.

It would have at least given him something to look at while he waited for sleep to catch up to him.

As it was, he had nothing to distract him from his own thoughts, and as confident as he was in his own abilities in repression he did not know if he could distract himself from his own mind for very long without something to _do_.

He could already feel the creep of anxiety as his thoughts tried to stray towards subjects that were best left alone.

A little peace was too much to ask, it seemed.

The decision to just ignore it was a quick one. He forced himself to just pull back the bunk’s sheet and lie down under it and stared at the ceiling as if he could fool his own body into relaxing. If he could convince his body that he was tired then maybe it would leave him alone.

Yet as he spent the next few minutes dragging his thoughts back towards the color of the ceiling he thought that maybe he would not have to fool his body into anything.

This constant mental battle was more draining than anything else, and the beginning effects of the drugs could already be felt.

A quiet sigh of relief slipped from his lips and shut his eyes as the first few fingers of sleep reached for him.

The first thing he saw was Thrawn, bent over as if in pain and his hands cupped over the part of his face that Pellaeon had hit earlier. There was a weight in Pellaeon’s hands that he did not remember and he glanced down to see his hand holding a datapad, the surface of it shattered.

Movement caught his eye and he looked back up as Thrawn straightened and lowered his hands. His chin and lips where bruised a dark purple, and blood had started to drip from where jagged shards of glass jutted out from his face.

Pellaeon’s eyes flew open as he kicked off the sheet and sat up, twisted his body so he could sit on the edge of his bunk with his feet on the floor, and buried his face into his hands.

 _Kriff_.

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends ACT I, if you could call it that. I'm not pleased with it, but at least I can finally move past this chunk of the story. Usually I'd do one final read through before posting but I didn't this time because I am so tired right now. Still don't know why I thought trying to do a multichapter fic was a good idea.... 
> 
> Speaking of, this whole fic might end up being longer than I anticipated. Not that you guys know how long I meant for this to be in the first place, but I'm thinkin' I'm gonna need to give myself some more cushion for some later parts.
> 
>  
> 
> ADDITION: chpt 5 is probably gonna be a little while. I know it's already been a few months, but I'm just really busy with college (this week especially) and the 5 is giving me a real hard time. It is not making things easy and I'm not even in a good head space to try and work it out. I'm sorry for the delay, but I haven't stopped or given up on it!! It's just gonna take a bit of time.. ;-;


	5. Chapter 5

Despite all of Pellaeon’s efforts, the night had been a long one. He had slept through most of it, but not peacefully, not without some nightmare waking him up just when he had started to relax into the soft call of deeper slumber.

When he awoke to the sound of his alarm the next morning cycle he was frustrated and weary, but otherwise hopeful that his darker thoughts had cleared enough in the night to allow for a day of productivity. Perhaps his sleep – fractured as it was – had offered him some reprieve in the form of finally being able to think properly. If nothing else, he would likely be able to function without emotion taking over.

He was not yet sure how much help that clear-headedness would amount to. Physically, he still felt drained from yesterday’s events. A quiet emptiness had filled the gaping hole in his chest and replaced the emotional extremes that had left him feeling rubbed raw. He felt as if the universe had chewed him up, only to spit him back out broken and battered.

Perhaps to expect anything different was to ask too much of himself. Miracles did not occur overnight. The Death Star wasn’t built in a day.

 _But it was destroyed in one,_ Pellaeon’s mind added, unbidden, and he scowled at himself.

It was those sorts of thoughts he had hoped he had left behind in the night before.

He had no idea how he was going to get through the day. He wasn’t even in the mood for his own shit let alone anyone else’s. Especially Thrawn’s.

Hell, he had thought that he was too old to put up with Thrawn’s particular brand of shit ten years ago. It was doubtful, given how their first meeting had went, that anything had changed in regard to that particular sentiment.

With a sigh, Pellaeon threw the bedsheet up off of himself and sat up.

It should not have felt like such a normal morning. As though such a revelation as Thrawn being alive required some equally substantial shift in the galaxy itself. Something should have been different, should have felt different.

Yet here he was, the same man on the same ship. Staring at the same four gray walls he did every morning, with the same aching joints and the same pained back.

If it were not for the nerves in his chest that ached and the way his stomach roiled, he could have fooled himself into thinking that it was one.

A part of him hated it.

His back popped as he twisted around and slid his legs over the side of the cot.

Hated that he had to go about his morning routine as if nothing had happened. As if his whole world here on the _Chimaera_ had not been flipped upside down.

Nothing had changed, yet nothing was the same.

And that only made Pellaeon feel worse.

 _Nothing_ should have been the same.

Thrawn’s return should have been the mark of something new. It should have been the start of the revitalization of the Empire.

Instead it was as though the universe had just spat Thrawn out in front of him, and when Pellaeon waved his arms and asked _what is this_ , it just shrugged in response. _“I gave you what you wanted. Not my problem if things didn’t work out.”_

Something should have been _different_.

It did not feel right for things to just keep on moving as if nothing had happened, yet that was how things worked and there was not anything Pellaeon could do about it.

He just wanted to pause everything. To ask the galaxy to stop moving for just an hour. Just long enough for him to think, so he could get his thoughts together. As if he would ever be lucky enough for such a miracle to occur.

One foot touched the cold floor, then the other, and with a sigh he forced himself to rise until he stood beside the bed. Almost immediately a headache threatened to bloom at his temples. He winced but forced himself to just stand there and take deep breathes as he fought the urge to just lie back down.  

The temptation clawed at him, but he knew that it would be better to go ahead and face what the day would bring rather than put it off.

After all, it was inevitable. And anything was better than lying in bed while his anxieties and fears ate at him from the inside out.

He turned and started to make the bed with hands that moved on autopilot and started to go over a mental checklist of all the things he needed to complete that day.

To so much as think about that list made his stomach twist into knots.

There were the normal, everyday duties he would have to complete, but then there were the new responsibilities that had been added to the list since Thrawn had reentered the picture. Half a dozen new problems each with their own intricacies and complications.

He had to deal with the crew and officers, and the with the rest of the Empire. He would have to figure out what should be said to which officers, and how it would be said. The crew would be an issue too – what would it take to dismantle the rumors that had surely spread like a fog since he had last been awake?

His hands came to as slow stop on the mattress’s sheet. He leaned his weight forwards, watched as the mattress gave beneath his palms.

Even worse to consider was the New Republic. To tell them anything about this was out of the question, which meant he was stuck hiding it. That could prove just as disastrous in the future if this ever came to light, but to deal with the alternative – it was much too early in their newfound ceasefire to put that level of stress on the treaty.

Nor did he want to know what the leaders of the Republic would do with the information. Pellaeon doubted they would just take it sitting down. He could imagine them asking for Thrawn, demanding Pellaeon to hand him over so he could be tried and answer for his crimes.

A show of good faith, they would probably call it. To prove that his loyalty lied with strengthening the bonds between their governments.

Such a demand would certainly show where his loyalty lied, and he knew that the Republic would be sorely disappointed with where that was.

On the other hand, if they did just accept Thrawn’s with grace and the promise that it would not change the treaty – what then? Would they both be stuck fearing an assassination attempt for the rest of their lives? Forced to constantly look over their shoulders, waiting for the next knife to slam itself into Thrawn’s back to finish the job?

No, telling the Republic anything was not an acceptable option.

And finally, there was the matter of Thrawn himself.

What would he say to the man?

What would Thrawn want to say to him?

The thought of speaking with about what had happened yesterday and all of the questions that had started the argument made Pellaeon’s chest ache.

He was left with no other option than to meet with Thrawn though. He could not leave this alone to just fester and boil over, and there was no other aboard the ship who could have the responsibility of meeting with Thrawn forced upon them. There was no one with the authority he now held or the history that was between them.

There was only him.

Pellaeon was not sure if his responsibility as Supreme Commander had ever been as terrifying as it was in that moment. His fear should not have affected him in such a strong manner – it probably should not have affected him at all.

He wondered if that in of itself was some example of how he had fallen short as a leader.

He knew that it was absolutely ridiculous to be so afraid of one man – a man he had known, a man who he had thought was lost. Someone he had respected and cared for, hell, someone he still cared for even now, despite everything that had transpired. Perhaps even despite his better judgement.

Yet the ordeal that occurred yesterday was fresh in his mind, and it felt very much like the same sort of memory someone would have if they accidentally pressed their hand against the hot burner of a stove.

And much like a burn victim, all Pellaeon wanted to do was shy away from the source of that pain.

That was the fear talking though – the fear of rejection, failure, of every last one of his ever-present nightmares coming true right before his very eyes.

Pellaeon would not give in to fear – not that he had much of a choice in the matter. He had faced down enemies that were larger and more dangerous than a single man, even if that man had been a grand admiral.

 _You did not love those enemies,_ some vicious part of Pellaeon’s mind hissed. _They didn’t earn your respect, your loyalty. They never curled up in your chest cavity and made it their home._

It was a thought that stung. It made Pellaeon flinch and step back from his bed as though he had been physically hit, as if he could distance himself from his own mind’s voice. Yet he could not deny that it was correct.

Thrawn was a formidable being to face because Pellaeon knew that he would always care about Thrawn beyond what was professionally acceptable. No matter what cruel things he spat, or how much Pellaeon told himself that the man did not deserve it, he would always have a place in his heart.

It was a weakness regardless of whether Thrawn knew of it or not. Nor was it one he was eager to have exploited.

Words could cut deeper than any blade and some of the things that Thrawn had said last night had slashed quite deeply. It joined his anxiety as a weight that pulled at his stomach and settled in the bottom of his lungs.

A shudder ran down his spine and Pellaeon shook his head to dislodge the feeling.

He did not want to linger on that train of thought so he made himself step back away from the bed completely and continue his morning routine. He tried to force his body to move naturally and without stress, but he knew just from the tension his body held that his movements were as mechanical as the droids onboard the ship.

To try and appear relaxed was probably a pointless endeavor anyway, he realized as he laid his uniform out on the bed and headed to the refresher, pulling off articles of clothing and folding them halfheartedly as he went. Anyone who had known him for as long as his crew had would be able to sense the tension in his shoulders and see the strain in his expression.

There would be little use in trying to hide it from Thrawn either.

_Not that the man would care._

Pellaeon snorted and closed the shower door behind himself harder than what was necessary. He did not bother selecting a temperature before he started the water and flinched when it came out a few degrees too hot.

He was quick to bathe himself; the sting of the hot water did little to wash away his thoughts, which had evidently taken a bitter turn at some point. The quicker he could get out of this room and throw himself his work, the better.

Despite that it was difficult to force himself to turn off the water and step out from the shower, and not simply because he knew that nothing but chilled air awaited him. When he did get out and grab the towel a feeling of dread settled over him.

Every second that ticked by, every swipe of the towel as he dried himself, put him one second closer to yet another possible confrontation—

Would put him closer to a _conversation_ , because Pellaeon would not allow another catastrophe like yesterday’s to happen.

This was not like the arguments they had back when he was a captain. Now he could just walk away if Thrawn started infuriating him. Couldn’t he? There was certainly no one or anything that could stop him.

Nothing other than himself.

A sigh left him as he drug the towel over his hair and turned towards the mirror to run a brush through it.

That was the problem though, wasn’t it? Everything was up to him. What they talked about, where and when they spoke. He was the one who had to make the hard choices. He was the one who had to live with the consequences, even when he was not the one to cause them.

Yet he still held so little control over the situation. Was any of that really up to him? Hell, did he even want to make those decisions?

He didn’t know, but that trail of thought made his head throb as his headache worsened.

He wanted to believe that he held some level of control over this situation. Had believed it for so long now that it felt surreal when something truly unexpected happened. All of this was about as unexpected as it got.

Losing ground to the New Republic? Expected, anticipated.

Thrawn appearing out of thin air, a perfect replica of the grand admiral despite all the time that had passed? Surprising, but dubious at best.

But the real man showing up, who acted so angry and twisted, as if it had been him jumping at shadows for the past decade rather than Pellaeon himself?

Something about that thought caught his attention.

He lowered the hairbrush and stared at himself long and hard in the mirror.

There was something different about Thrawn, something off. He may have been the same man Pellaeon had worked under ten years ago, but something about him had changed. The grand admiral had been a cold man, calculating, a predator on the battlefield. Intelligent enough to know when to retreat, and yet would never truly give up until he had his prey by the throat.

Pellaeon had seen that same man when Thrawn had gotten off of the transport. Yet when they were alone—

Something was _off_.

Thrawn felt different. Something deep down inside of him, as though his outer shell was a façade. It was not the same sort of disguise that the conman had used to recreated himself in another’s image, but it was just as uncanny. Like an optical illusion he couldn’t quite figure out, no matter how he looked at it. As though something in Thrawn’s core as a being had reimagined itself.

There was something about him that seemed frantic. Frayed around the edges. Something almost, but not quite, scared.

(In his mind’s eye Pellaeon could see the last air bubble escape a drowning man’s mouth, exposed nerves, a shuddering starburst that turned into blood splatter on a white uniform.)

And that was fair, Pellaeon supposed. People could change a lot in a decade, and it probably seemed like an even bigger shift in personality to him since he hadn’t been there to watch it happen.

But he could have been there.

All Thrawn had to do was tell him.

He could have given the order (all he had to do was ask) and Pellaeon would have been back at his side (where he belonged).

But he hadn’t, because he didn’t care—

_But I thought he had._

—and that was all there was too it.

Pellaeon ignored the way his throat burned and his eyes prickled at the thought as he exited the refresher and started towards his bed to begin dressing for the day.

There was no point in getting worked up over it now.

He could not close himself off in his quarters and ponder on the hundreds of what if situations that had plagued him for so long.

He did not have the time for that – no matter how much some part of him may have felt the pull, the self-destructive urge to do so regardless.

There was nothing he could do to change the past and to allow himself to get upset over it before going in public certainly was not going to help him in the present.

In an odd way he suddenly felt grateful that he carried so many responsibilities within the Empire. If there was anything that would be able to distract him from his own self, it was the weight of the billions of lives that rested on his shoulders.

Not to mention the myriad of new items Thrawn’s arrival had added onto his to do list. He had a feeling that today would consist of nothing but damage control and half-truths. That was certainly nothing new for the Empire here lately, even though this particular topic was proving itself to be abnormally strenuous to think about. If he made it through the day without collapsing on his feet then he’d be more than appreciative for his own perseverance.

His mouth twisted into a grimace as he thought about all of the questions his crew would have. He shoved one foot into a boot and then the other, as visions of answering the questions off all the other Imperial ship captains floated through his mind.

Hundreds of thousands of people, each with their own concerns and questions and—

He could manage to keep the number of knowledgeable persons smaller than that though surely.

He only needed to speak directly to the crew of his own ship, and then he could send out a quick comprehensive message to the appropriate people. That, of course, assumed that the message would not find its way into the hands of the New Republic. That could possibly be the worst-case scenario delivered straight from hell.

But what would even be the gain of selling that information to the Republic at this point?

The treaty was signed and finalized, and even if it was not properly put into place yet everyone still knew about it. It was doubtful that any traitors would have managed to stick around this long regardless of that anyway; the Empire’s slow fall was obvious even to the most loyal of people. And even if there were still a few that hung on, Pellaeon doubted that anything regarding Thrawn being alive for the third time would be taken seriously by the Republic.

His previous fears bubbled back up in his mind, of having to fight off the Republic all for one man.

He would just have to be careful with what he said. Leave out names and specific details, maybe even some of the broader details while he was at it.

That left him with the Moffs to consider, although after Disra’s recent betrayal Pellaeon was willing to consider not telling them anything at all. What they did not know for the time being certainly would not hurt them.

A sigh escaped him as he pinned his rank bars to his chest and felt the weight of his own responsibilities pull down on him.

If Thrawn was not retired as he claimed, if this was not such a delicate balance of an easily deniable truth, then he would have considered trying to pressure Thrawn into making the announcement himself. He owed the Empire an explanation. Even if that explanation would likely come much later rather than sooner.

As it stood, responsibility once again fell to Pellaeon’s weary shoulders.

He did one final check of his person to make sure he had everything he needed and then opened door to his quarters. He stepped out with his head held high in some attempt to appear collected and turned to make sure the door had locked behind him. Something out of the corner of his eye as he turned away from the door, but he decided to ignore it, unconcerned with some smudge in his peripheral vision.

His focus was solely on getting to the bridge, making his rounds, and then finding a nice quiet corner to think and possibly take a good nap in before anyone interrupted him—

“We need to talk.”

Pellaeon froze halfway through a step as a voice he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear spoke out. He slowly put his foot back down and turned on a heel to face back towards his door.

Thrawn stood a few feet away, leaned up against the wall just outside of his doorway. He wore a blank expression but Pellaeon could see the exhaustion that creeped in at the edges of his face. He could see that uncomfortable uncertainty at the edges in the weight of his gaze, in the slant of his shoulders and the curve of his body.

His mouth was bruised all to hell; it didn’t appear to be swollen, but it had turned a nasty shade of purple from his lip all the way down to his jaw. The sight did not give Pellaeon the same satisfaction it had the day before.

Pellaeon wondered if Thrawn could tell how tired he himself felt, but realized that he couldn’t. He wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes stared off to the side, trained on some part of the wall off to Pellaeon’s right. As though he could not even bare to look at him.

As if he was not the one to blame, like he had not to started this.

It made him frown in displeasure, but Pellaeon found that it did not make him quite as angry as it probably should have. He was not even sure if he had the energy to get upset.

Instead it just simmered inside his chest as an unpleasant hum. He was almost grateful that it was nothing more than that. It still did not stop his disdain from slipping into his expression as his eyes hardened and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Do we?”

His voice was calm and level as he spoke. He took some pride in that, but he was also aware that it sounded cold and distant even to his own ears. Internally he winced.

It was what seemed to get Thrawn’s attention though. Red eyes slowly – _carefully_ – shifted away from the wall to meet Pellaeon’s.

They stared at each other while the silence stretched on. It made the hairs on the back of Pellaeon’s neck stand up and his insides twist with nerves, but he stood his ground and waited.

“Yes,” was all Thrawn answered.

Pellaeon watched him for a moment longer and tried to ignore his own mounting anxiety.

He had really hoped that he could have put this conversation off for a little longer than this. Long enough for him to gather his thoughts a little more, to better prepare himself emotionally.

_Just get it over with. Like ripping off a bandage._

Or, perhaps, a thorn would have been a more apt analogy. Something that punctured the skin, dug in deep, and bled. Something that left behind a wound rather than healed one.

Pellaeon shook his head. He needed some control over this. “Not here,” he said with a stilted hand motion towards his own locked door. “I know a viewing room that rarely gets visitors though. We can speak there.” _In neutral territory._

Thrawn nodded and pushed himself up off the wall. It was so eerie to watch him move, as if Pellaeon’s brain could not fully wrap itself around what his eyes saw.

_(Of course it did not feel right, the last time he had seen Grand Admiral Thrawn was at his funeral. When he was just a lifeless corpse, although the sullen creature in front of him did not seem to be all that different.)_

Pellaeon tried not to study him as he pulled his comm from his pocket and informed Ardiff where he would be and who he was with. The captain did not sound happy on the other end of the link, but said nothing outright against what he was about to do.

That was all well and good. There was nothing the other man could have said to change his mind.

He returned the comm to its pocket and motioned for Thrawn to follow him as he turned and began to walk down the hallway. It did not take long for the sound of footsteps to start after him, slowly getting closer, until Thrawn fell into step beside him.

They made their way through the ship in tense silence, each hallway they turned down getting them closer to their destination.

Pellaeon’s comm never once pinged, and the few officers they saw in the halls had the good sense to veer off into a side room or down a different hallway before they came too close. Not that Pellaeon believed for a moment that they were not back out in the hall as soon as Thrawn and himself had passed by. They all had to have taken their turn to stare after the pair; Pellaeon felt their probing eyes on the back of his head, and Thrawn seemed strangely agitated by the undeniable sensation of being watched.

It was almost ominous. The quiet, the avoidance.

It may have been good sense for the officers to find themselves scarce, but Pellaeon also felt that it might have been better for someone to have stopped them just to speak for a moment. It might have grounded him in the present better than this silence that stretched on between them.

The same unending silence that continued to stretch on until they both stood before the viewing room’s door, the last point before they were once again stuck with each other.

Alone, with no witnesses. No way to easily back out or back down.

Just the two of them, their thoughts, and whatever tumultuous conversation they would hold.

Some part of Pellaeon wanted to slam on the proverbial breaks, even though it was already much too late for that. It was the same part of him that asked _what do you think you are doing? What good do you think will come of this?_

And the truth of the matter was that he did not know.

He didn’t know what he was doing, what to expect, or if anything – good or bad – would come from this.

He knew that he had a duty to have this conversation though, and hope that whatever happened next would yield a better outcome than yesterday’s argument.

It was an easy hope, with the bar of success set as low as _don’t hit anyone_ , yet none of that helped the anxiety that hovered in the back of his mind. It did not stop his own dread from slowly making its way forward to the forefront of his brain or from crawling around in his stomach like a hoard of insects. It didn’t help his headache which was definitely a product of either one of those feelings.

Pellaeon was not sure if there was anything that could have helped him.

Thrawn’s profile, which could be seen out of the corner of his eye as they stood, certainly did not.

To even look at him rubbed against Pellaeon’s nerves the wrong way. Took the fears that twisted around in his stomach and turned it into something all the more horrible, something that crawled up his esophagus and tightened his throat until it hurt to swallow. Hurt to even breath.

And that – that was saddening in its own way.

He could still remember a time when standing by Thrawn’s side had made him feel secure. Confident. Not untouchable, never that in such a fickle time of war and death, but safe in the once small life he had carved out for himself in the Empire.

Yet now, Pellaeon only felt turmoil.

Could he even remember the last time he had felt safe? Had there been a time after Thrawn abandoned the Empire that he had felt in truly confident in his abilities?

He had stepped into the responsibilities that were required of him when he needed, but that was not the same as having confidence. Even when he had known what he was doing he had never truly felt sure of himself. Even when he knew what he was doing there was always a sliver of doubt that tugged at him. Wondered if his efforts were good enough, if his decision was the right one to make.

Even in the moments he thought he had been in control of the situation, he would find himself asking what Thrawn would think of his efforts if he could see them.

Had he ever been in control of the situation?

He thought back over a dozen instances. Sleepless nights that led into days of exhaustion, over and over again, until he finally gave into fatigue. When he had to excuse himself to vomit up his dinner because someone at the gala had spilled a glass of red wine on a white table cloth. The year when he had turned in his blaster when his thoughts had lingered too long on the subject of death, and the quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered _It should have been me_.

 _No_ , he thought with a grimace, _he had not._

They had hesitated too long outside of the door and the silence had gained a whole new layer of awkward. Thrawn had begun to shift his weight from foot to foot and Pellaeon felt a slow heat climb up his face. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t know if he could.

He grit his teeth and forced himself to jab his finger on the button.

What Pellaeon could or wanted to do didn’t matter.

This was his responsibility, and he would handle it as he had all the others: with a brave face to cover his fears.

The door opened to show an empty room as Pellaeon expected and he felt his body tense up.

 _Last chance to back out_ , his mind whispered. 

In response he squared his shoulders and stepped into the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure that wasn't great but let's all just be glad I got something out. I'm also like 90% sure Star Destroyers don't have water showers but I don't care. I'm working with the legends stuff none of this is real I didn't feel like changing it! Though if that detail messed with your immersion or anything then I'm sorry. 
> 
> The original version of this was getting ridiculously long so I cut it. Hopefully this bought me some time (because boy I disappeared for a while) 'cause I'm still working through the dialogue coming next... because somebody said something that I didn't slap my seal of I Totally Planned This approval on but I'm letting it slide because it makes sense. Hopefully it works out 'cause uuhhh it's been like pulling teeth. I'm so stressed out. 
> 
> Hopefully it'll be done soon though. I think I'm gonna start leaving the notes alone too because I was worried they'd disrupt the fic for anyone just reading through the whole thing, but who cares. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Okay so, I just want to let everybody know that it's probably going to be awhile before the next chapter gets posted. I'm not going to have a lot of free time for the next few months and I'm just very emotionally tired. And this is, for the most part, a very emotionally taxing story. I'm hoping that it won't be as long of a wait as it was for this one and I haven't given up on it, but idk when I'll have it finished.


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